Flickers
by Alicia Moonstoan
Summary: I found the following items in the backpack I woke up with; one copy of Huckleberry Fin, One journal written in another language, one change of clothes, one pocket knife, one box matches, and 80 cash. There's a ring on my right index finger. My name is Lea. And I can't remember anything.[Sequel to Lifetime and Hunter] [Viewer discretion is advised; see AN for more info]
1. Chapter 1: Lea

**A rather lengthy and important author's note:**

Well, here we are again. Or rather, here I am. Sitting in my room, listening to the rain and the sound of inevitable approaching death looming over me. But, of course, you guys don't really care, so let's get to business.

This next volume is going to be set up differently from the others because it covers such a large time-span, and to avoid confusion I'm going to lay out the rules here.

The title of each chapter, as viewed in emails is still going to be Chapter #: Narrator, as usual. However, when you get into the actual site the top of the chapter will look like this:

[Flicker number] Flicker title

Chapter #: Narrator

Date, time

Each flicker has a common theme based on the name, and as such the chapters are grouped into chunks that are similar in time and in theme. For instance Flicker number 15 is called "Axes." Makes no sense right now, but it will later.

This fic is going to be a little…how shall I say…heavy. **Here is a list of things that this story will almost certainly feature that may or may not be classified as "Triggers:"**

In order of appearance: Rape/sexual abuse, physical abuse, depression, abusive relationships, self-harm, alcohol/drug use, sexual content, suicide, and lots of foul language because it seems like Jeff might have gotten a tad sassy between fics. **I will post a warning at the beginning of each chapter containing these things. If I forget yell at me.**

Well, that's about all. I…uh…I hope that you don't get pissed and quit this after reading this first chapter, because I don't plan to go cutting people's heads off in this series. There's a pretty good ending to all of this, I promise you.

* * *

[Flicker 1] You're not supposed to remember

July 10th, 11:30 PM

Chapter 1: Lea **(TW: Rape/sexual abuse)**

There are ropes around my wrists and ankles; my wrists separate, tied to the arms of a chair, and my ankles together. The chair itself is metal and plastic, straight-backed and uncomfortable and terribly familiar. There's a glaring light from somewhere overhead, artificial and pounding. And there are voices nearby, talking low and fast.

All this I process as I rise out of the trance-state, groggy. My body feels heavy, and it's all too easy to just let it remain in the half bent-over position it's already in. There's going to be a crick in my neck later.

My mind backlashes with so much force my lungs stop taking in air. I'm sitting in the middle of an array. I can see about half of the circular drawing cut through with an X below me. It's not full-fledged, but it's serious enough that the only reason I'm not blinded right now is that Slender was—is—hunting and the mental connection is dimmed. He probably doesn't even know I'm gone.

I can still feel the phantom-warmth of his hand in mine; still hear the "goodnight." I feel tears start to form on my lower eyelids but blink them away. I'm going to get out of this. I'm going to be fine.

I force my body to remain still, despite the clawing pain in my chest and the aching in my wrists and ankles. They think I'm asleep.

I was trancing, I know that, and I only ever do that when there's something foreign in my system, something dangerous. Conclusion; they drugged me. They probably expect me to be out for several hours.

They won't kill me; they can't. There's always the chance I'll come back and they won't be able to stop me. Then again; maybe they will kill me. Maybe they'll make that mistake and alert Slender to my plight. Wouldn't that be nice of them.

I swallow, feeling the dry rasp of my throat. I feel sick, but otherwise stable. I realize the nausea is because my stomach is completely empty. Did they pump my stomach or something? That's a disgusting thought. I gag, but swallow back the bile. If I throw up now they'll know I'm awake.

The voices rise in volume as the speakers approach me. I close my eyes, letting my body go limp.

"This is going to keep the memories suppressed, and hopefully stop her from reconnecting with Undesignated indefinitely," They're saying, shoes clicking on the floor.

I dare to open my eyes a crack and see two sets of legs standing before me. They're wearing full-body white liquid-resistant suits; Doctors. I feel a sharp pang of terror stab up my spine at the thought. Oh no, please no.

"See," The man says his voice overly-loud. He flicks an object into the air and the cold light flashes off warm metal. The man catches the object again, "and it's such an elegant way to do it."

The other man seems unimpressed, "What time is he supposed to get here?" His voice is softer, more serpent than lion.

"He's two minutes late," The loud man says, "The Operator isn't famous for being on time."

"He's not famous for much, besides one of the publicity teams using his name."

"And they never shut up about it." The man turns towards me slightly, "While we wait we could have a little fun."

"Not a good idea."

He steps in front of me, and I close my eyes again. My heartbeat is thundering in my own ears. If he touches me I'm going to kill him.

I feel heavy hands tug at the hem of my shirt, untucking my tank-top from the waist of my jeans. I've had other people do this before, but I know that this is fundamentally different.

"Dammit; we tied her wrists down," He grunts, and I feel a knife tear the fabric of my shirt. The ice-cold tip digs into my skin, just below my ribcage, and a flame of cold pain makes my body tense slightly. The man grunts again, carefully cuts open the rest of my shirt.

His partner seems to draw the line here, because he says, "We aren't supposed to touch her."

"She's gonna be blocked. You got a stick up your ass today?"

I try to breathe normally, stop my muscles trembling. They're going to block me. Of course they are; might as well make me the most miserable they possibly can. If they take my memories I know what's going to happen, and it's not going to be pretty.

Those heavy hands are on my skin now, but I'm caught up in what seems a far more terrible fate. Some Slendermen can "remove" memories from someone's head. Very rarely they remove any and all memories from a subject's, usually a Proxy's, mind. Either of these procedures is called a "block."

I squeeze my eyes shut as I feel lips press against the skin on my chest. I grit my teeth together. Make it stop.

"Where do ya think she got that?" the soft-voiced man asks.

"Heck if I know. Must have been one hell of a cut though," His voice is heavy and short of breath. Listening to it is making me feel sick to my stomach. There's no way out of this situation.

"You think cutting through her bra would be going too far?" The loud man asks.

"I wouldn't. If she's too exposed the Slenderman might not be able to focus."

"Mmmm, You're probably right." He works one meaty finger beneath my bra, rubbing it over my breast, my nipple.

The fight to retain control over my body is a losing one, but I give it a shot. I can't let him see I'm awake; there's no telling what he'll do. I'd much rather be fighting off Jeff alone at two in the morning (again) than this.

There's a buzzing, sudden and loud and very welcome to my ears. The loud man winces, removing his hand from my chest hurriedly. I hear the rustle of cloth as he pulls his mask back on. Never before in my life have I been so relieved for a Slenderman other than my master to appear. This feels like one of the stronger Slendermen too. That's good. Now that I can focus I can do things.

I can get inside his head. I've done it before to others. It's easy, especially if I'm not connected to Slender. He's going to become my slave for a few minutes.

The Operator flashed into existence to my left, not directly in front of me. Just habits, programming. Even with my eyes closed I can track him, which is good. There's the mental presence; corrosive and vibrant. There's a faint flicker of surprise as he registers the state of my clothing and senses my mind, then a disdainful flick of disgust in regard to the two doctors.

I let my mind rest against his and begin digging into the energy of it, gulping down anger and hate. I like the fire it starts in my chest, chasing out the fear.

"Sir," Both doctors say, bowing slightly.

The Slenderman makes no response. I sense him look at them, then at me, "Is this the one?" His vice isn't deep, but it demands attention. He's definitely a puppet-master; this just keeps getting better.

I know he's aware of me taking energy; he can't be ignoring this. Maybe it's pity, maybe he just doesn't know what the sensation is. Whatever the case it's making him nervous. I can feel the uncertainty in his mind.

For a second I feel guilty that I'm doing this, partly because he's so much like Slender. He isn't Slend; I just have to remember that.

The pain in my chest returns at the thought of my master. I force in a breath against it, feeling the faint traces of saliva on my skin as I do so. My brain is releasing all kinds of chemicals that are not helping my concentration and I know I'm spinning off into a void but I can't stop myself. There's nothing to calm myself down with because that usually involves Slender.

I miss him already.

"Yes sir," the loud man replies to The Operator. He can't keep the slight tone of disappointment out of his voice.

The softer-spoken man is back to business, "Do you see the memories you are extracting?"

"Yes," The Operator replies. It sounds like a question.

"She has a rather interesting history. We're not sure what you'll find in her head."

"I have used this procedure on many people in the past. This will be no odder."

"Yes, sir," Comes the reply.

The Slenderman sighs, an audible dull huffing noise I know well, and says, "Let's get this over with."

He moves directly in front of me, half step half flash of teleportation. The intensity of the vibration increases, and I feel his focus narrow so I'm the only living creature inside his sphere of influence.

I send out a wordless keening plea as loudly as I can. The fear is beginning to fade into anger now, partly fuelled by the being's own rage, and I know what I want.

The Operator stops moving as I feel the thought impact. He looks towards the doctors and says, "What is this?"

"I-I don't know what you mean," The soft-spoken one stammers. My eyes are closed, but I can imagine him stepping backward slightly, away from the being.

"Are you trying to be funny?" He asks again, and this time his voice is tinged with anger. In the other half of my brain I pounce on the emotion, pulling it into myself, depriving the Slenderman of it.

"No," The doctor says.

The hum increases, making the two humans wince in pain. This apparently satisfies the Slenderman that they are being truthful and he no longer sounds angry when he says, "She has to be asleep for me to do this properly."

He's barely finished the sentence when I find his mind. The being twitches, unsure of what's happening.

"She is asleep," The loud man starts, "we gave her-"

I snap my head up into a sitting position. I can't move more than this physically, but I'm inside The Operator's mind and I just need him to hold still.

I look at him, seeing the being perfectly, and I sense the paralysis taking hold. My ears stop registering sound and my body seems to lose all feeling. The doctors must be frozen in shock.

"That one," I whisper, twisting my hold on his mind, "That one." I dig into the most painful spots I can, pulling up things he doesn't want to remember, ripping away hate.

"What is she doing?" The Operator asks, composed but nervous. He's gone perfectly still, and is starting to return the mental pressure. I'm so starved for mental contact it's helping me. He's trying to get into my memories, to immobilize me. I throw up a wall of sadness around his mind, holding back the power.

"Knock her out," The Operator says, "now!"

The two doctors jerk into movement, scrambling with sedatives in long needles. I can't move away or fight physically.

"That one," I whisper again, and forcefully snap his mind towards the loud doctor. Then I press the memories into his mind, the rage and the fear and the disgust. I feel him twitch in shock, emotions he hasn't felt before rushing in and around his head.

"Kill it for me,"

"What?" He asks, making the doctors pause.

"Kill it," I repeat, dig deeper. I hit a pressure-point in his head and feel tentacles emerge from his back, sinewy flesh twisting through the air. "Kill it."

And he whips out one of the limbs, completely of his own will, and snaps the man's neck. Quick and painless, instant. The sound of his neck bones breaking echoes through the empty room.

Then he seems to realize the action and focuses back on me, but I know I've won now. I've got him.

The Operator scrambles for a hold, slashing through my defenses into my memories. He starts unravelling them, pulling them out of my mind. It feels and sounds like a swarm of biting insects is coating every inch of my body.

I can't remember being sex, was I ever six? What's the name of my third grade teacher?

I slam his mind down with all of my strength, stunning him.

Then the second doctor finally acts. His hands jerk my head to the side, and I feel a needle jam into my neck, the contents coursing into my bloodstream. My eye contact breaks as my vision goes blurry, and The Operator begins tearing my memories away, destroying them.

I let out a long wail of agony as he consumes them. "No, please no, don't do this. Leave me alone!" I force the words out, but they decay into meaningless gibberish.

In desperation I start rocking back and forth only to discover the chair is bolted down. I try throwing my memories of torture at The Operator's mind, then memories of killing as he has no response. With a sob I throw my most recent memory of Slender at him, the one from a couple hours ago. It's so clear I can still hear the sounds of shifting fabric.

I hear a slight intake of breath, but he doesn't stop. Then The Operator slams into a real wall, full force; the day I met Slender. He runs into the fake memories my mind has constructed around the day, and bounces back, surprised.

If the shock is bad for him it's world-rending for me. No one is supposed to know those are fake. I didn't know those were fake. I can't defend when the attack resumes, only whimpering as my body is consumed by agony and the heavy creeping of sedatives. My mind spasms, trying to reject the unseen force, and not succeeding.

Finally, finally, finally the tearing stops. My memories are still fading out so I have enough sense to register the short exchange.

"What have you done?" Someone says.

"She told me to," A voice that makes my heart pound replies, "I couldn't refuse."

"How much did you remove?"

"Everything,"

"Everything?" Shocked, they're shocked.

"There wasn't one second without a trace of his presence," Voice heavy, exhausted, "This is the last time. I can't do this anymore."

"Everything," Slightly dumbfounded, disbelieving.

* * *

An ungodly screeching noise greets me as I waken. There's something cold underneath me, cold and hard and a bit damp. I can smell something, fresh and earthy, feel the chill on my back. A gust of air goes over my head.

I raise my head, arms pushing myself up just enough to see where I am. It's wide and flat, with boxes on either side. Huge boxes, with lights in them. Houses; yes, houses. And I'm laying in a…road. It's a road. Road, road, road…cars. Cars move-drive-on roads.

I try to get onto my hands and knees, but my muscles don't respond. I try again, and fail again. I can't move.

My head meets the pavement sharply as my arms give way and I feel my vision go blurry. Everything hurts; my chest and my arms and my legs, and my head. My head feels like it's cracked open.

Hesitant sounds approach me, each one soft but undeniably in existence. I open blurry eyes and gaze up at the source.

Pale hair, green eyes, prim nose, full lips. That is a beautiful creature. Human beautiful, not animal beautiful.

"Do you need help?" The beautiful thing asks, eyes darting uncomfortably.

"I think so," I reply, or think I reply. I might have said something else.

"What's your name?"

I blink hard, swallow hard, "Lea," at least I think so. I definitely got that one right. I decide to try something else, "I'm Lea and I need help."

* * *

**AN:** I'm gonna be honest; this was totally different in rough-draft form. And by that I mean there was a whole lot less creepy in it. Oh well.

Please review; feel free to yell at me. This is gonna be one of those things I write even when no one reads them.


	2. Chapter 2: Slender

**AN:** Well, I guess it's time to start the grind again. This stuff actually takes quite a bit of my time throughout the week. (Plus my English teacher this semester is a basically a gargoyle and a passive aggressive little *things-that-should-not-be-said-in-front-of-an-audience* so she won't let me write in class.)

* * *

**Reviews:**

Superkassu: Thank you!

Auto (Guest): I hope it will turn out as well as you hope.

stripesthetiger11: *Throws phone into locker and closes it* (and yes they did throw her out of the back of a van)

* * *

[2] Gone

July 11, 4:00 AM

Chapter 2: Slender

I sink onto the bed without looking at it. There's a shape tucked under the covers; Lea. She's tugged the blankets up over her head, curled into a tight ball.

I reach out with my mind, trying to find her. Maybe I should stop dimming the connection when I hunt; it leaves me starving for contact. Maybe Lea will wake up and we can talk for a bit. If I ask she probably will.

I'm still looking for her mind, but nothing is there. I huff aloud, hoping it will wake her. Nothing. This hasn't happened before, but she's never been asleep when I try to rejoin the connection either so I can only assume that's why. The familiar ache is starting to form in my chest, and there's a hollow empty feeling building in the pit of my stomach.

I reach back to shake her shoulder, "Lea-" but my hand sinks into the soft blankets that appeared to form her shape. She's not here.

I pull back the blankets, fear clawing up my throat. Not there. The kitchen maybe? I flicker into existence; nothing. The bathroom? No. She has to be here somewhere; she just has to be. Lea, my Lea, cannot be gone. I check every room, pulling a few large pieces of furniture aside to check behind them. I'm half expecting to find her in some corner, head on her knees, and half expecting to find her body, mutilated beyond recognition. It seems that either would have been favorable to the emptiness I find instead. At least if she were dead—and I would know if she was—I would have nothing to stay aware for, and I could sleep again. With any luck I would never wake up.

But she's not here; she's not anywhere.

Maybe she got lonely and went looking for company? It wouldn't be the first time. Maybe Mitch wanted something. Where is the observer today? I remember.

I flicker into the room, but Mitch is along, asleep, and without a mask. I feel a sudden anger inside me, something I haven't felt in a long time. The man twitches in response to my presence.

I yank away the covers, lifting the man by his legs so that he's unable to reach anything. I'm being rougher than I normally would, but I don't care. Let him have a couple bruises. I want him to have marks from this, to make him remember.

Mitch is wearing only boxers and I'm painfully aware that Lea might have been interested if she were here. She really liked people who looked like this, I know. The way his dark hair falls around his ears and neck has definitely not gone unnoticed, or the breadth of his shoulders. It's become hard to tell Lea's thoughts from my own.

The Proxy jerks to life with a yelp and finds himself face-to-face with me. I watch his face contort into feat, then in confusion, then back to fear.

"Where's Lea?" I ask, aware that my presence is causing him pain.

The man swallows, coughs sickly. His eyes slide out of focus.

I shake him, and they snap back forward, "Where is Lea?"

"I-," He starts, gags, then finishes, "I don't know." Then he throws up retching with his whole body.

The substance is thick and gunky, and since he's upside-down it goes through his nose too. I step back, used to Lea's sickness. The vomit hits the floor with a wet slapping noise.

"I thought she was with you," Mitch says, gagging again.

I growl, one of the sounds I can make aloud. Mitch's eyes are full of fear and horror, and a thin line of vomit runs from the corner of his mouth. I have to force myself not to butcher him on the spot.

Instead I throw him back onto the bed, registering a crack as some piece of him meets the wall instead.

Not there, but where? The room at base? No. The apartment? No. The house in Montana? No.

Anywhere?

I stop, feeling fear tightening on my chest. Where's my Lea? With Jeff; that must be it. She and he had a spat a couple weeks ago—I don't even remember what about—and they aren't speaking. She went to apologize to Jeff. If he killed her…

I can't finish the threat.

I appear behind the man. He has a bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Toes tapping fast and irregular, head low, voice mumbling something incoherent. He responds to my presence almost immediately, swinging around. The bottle drops, the alcohol spilling out onto the ground. His eyes focus one me with some difficulty, and he relaxes slightly.

"I thought you were someone else," Jeff slurs.

I watch him sway back and forth, stumbling a bit. Fresh blood stains the arms of his jacket. I wonder briefly if the blood is his own, before a pang of pain reminds me why I'm here.

"Where's Lea?" I ask.

Jeff shakes himself, pulls the hood of his jacket down, "What do you mean 'where's Lea?' I figured you were here to tell me off for bugging her."

"She's gone."

The man seems to pull himself completely out of the alcohol induced trance, "I haven't seen her." He twitches, "Gone? Gone how?"

I don't reply, thoughts already shifting elsewhere. Not with Jeff, so with Jack. That's the last reasonable place I should check.

Jeff swallows, the reality apparently dawning on him, "Holy shit; she's gone." He reaches down, picks up the bottle, and drains the remaining contents in a single swallow.

I flicker out of existence again, not wanting to watch the man any longer. I don't want to do anything besides sleep, and I can't do that.

Jack is sitting at a dark wood table, bent over a book. His hood is pulled down and his mask is to his right. Brown hair falls in disarray like I've never said before.

I feel myself getting mad again, static crackling in the air. Lea has to be here. I almost expect her to come down the stairs. I'm dying for that; I would kill for it.

Jack turns his head a fraction to see me. He frowns, "It's you. Does Lea have something to do here?"

I feel my heart stop beating, "Is she here?"

Jack goes back to his book, "I haven't seen her."

I yank his chair back from the table, dumping the being onto the floor. He leaps to his feet, hands reaching for his pockets, but I find there's a tentacle around his neck, squeezing hard enough to make him stop moving.

"Tell the truth," I growl, trying to conceal the now overwhelming pain echoing through my mind.

"I don't know where Lea is," Jack states. He inhales, exhales, tries to inhale again, but I cut off his air. The being just stands there, looking at me. He can't talk but the lack of air isn't bothering him either.

I snap and fling the man sideways across the room. He hits the wall with a thud that makes me feel twin thrills of satisfaction and self-loathing.

Jack gets to his feet slowly, flexing his back and testing bones in his neck. He just looks at me, one hand rubbing his neck. A bruise is already starting to form there.

"What happened?" He asks, and I'm surprised to hear that he's not angry or scared but concerned.

"She's gone," I say after a pause, and feel my body shudder.

"Gone," The being repeats, just like Jeff did. Then he says "Are you crying?"

I don't respond; I can't cry, or so I thought. This feels all too close.

Jack blinks black eyes, "Oh…she's gone." He raises his hand, swipes at black tears that stain his flesh. He takes one deep shuddering breath, but I vanish before he can even release it.

Back to where I was before, to stare down at the empty bed. She's just gone. I left her here a few hours ago, I said goodnight, and now she's gone.

It's July 11th, I've been counting the days, two days from now, July 13th, is her birthday. Last year the only thing that marked that day was her unwillingness to get up or do anything at all. This year she won't be around, even if it is to force me to carry her out of her room.

I sit on the bad, now crisscrossed with bars of light from the window, and remove the necklace from my pocket. It was originally in a box, but I've learned how hard it is to hide something from Lea, so my person was the only place I could be sure she couldn't find it. She's known something was up for a week, since I got it, but hasn't pried out of respect. Now I wish she had so that she might have been in possession of the object tonight when she was taken. Or she left. Maybe it would have kept her here.

I watch the tiny silver star swing back and forth. It's inlaid with Paraiba Tourmaline, the same blue as her eyes. I was so looking forward to giving it to her.

Undoing the tiny clasp, I pull the chain around my own neck. It's long enough that there's a few inches slack so I can tuck it into the collar of my shirt. I rub the silver between my fingers; it's almost like having a piece of her here with me. Almost.

I miss her so much that I can feel the empty place inside me, swallowing my heart. I need to find Lea, and maybe I can, but maybe I can't. Lea used to stand out, but now to my eyes she barely exists. Just another human amongst seven billion of them. I can try though; I'll try to find her. She has to be here somewhere.

She is alive, I know that. I would be able to tell if she was dead. I can half-sense her continued existence. What disturbs me the most is that she can't seem to sense me at all.

She could be anywhere, especially if she's being hidden. Even worse; she might have left on her own. She promised me she would tell me if there was something that meant she couldn't, but if there was something she didn't tell me…I can barely consider it.

"Lea," I try, but my own thoughts bounce back to me. "You're gone, aren't you?"


	3. Chapter 3: Eyeless Jack

**AN:** Back from LA. No chapters were written there. That means my comfortable buffer is shrinking quite rapidly. Not good. It's not my fault Slender has absolutely zero social skills. Okay, it is my fault but too late to change that now.

Also; general warning; Jeff is a sassy bastard.

* * *

**Reviews:**

Stripesthetiger11: Puns…puns everywhere…my head hurts a little. Remove your hands from my shoulders; I got your update right here. You're in luck: It's from Eyeless Jack's point of view (note how I specify which Jack because *spoilers*)

* * *

[2] Gone

July 11th, 4:30 am

Chapter 3: Eyeless Jack

Jack tries to keep reading, he really does, but the book he thought would be interesting doesn't seem to be that important anymore. Maybe the creature was overreacting, and Lea was just out with Jeff or something. No; no. That was real, and he's absolutely certain that the Slenderman had been crying. He definitely heard tears in its voice.

She's gone; has to be. Not just out, not just crashing with Jeff—though if that ever happened there would have been hell to pay; she's just gone? He couldn't believe that. How could Lea, just be gone?

The being swabs the bottom of his eyes, wiping away black liquid. Is he crying? He doesn't know; it's been such a long time since he's had something worth crying over. The Slenderman probably felt the same way, worse actually. Maybe it was the first time the being had cried over anything. Jack wishes that were true about himself.

Why does he care? It's not like the girl was anyone special to him, anything more than a curiosity, not even unique. Maybe it was some shred of humanity that hadn't been shaken loose yet. Why can't he be sociopathic?

Jack goes back to the book, trying to forget about the whole thing, but after reading the same paragraph at least a dozen times he gives up and closes the book with a snap. Curse this habit; why can't he just let go? He licks his fingers, trying to taste anything of his last meal, but there's nothing. If he wants to do this properly he'll need a steady supply of food, and if he's going to take this on he's going to do it right.

Jack stands up, drags his backpack onto the table. There's a blood-splattered map in one pocket. He spreads it one the table. It's marked with all colors of pen and a fair amount of other substances that aren't so mundane.

He needs to think rationally about this. There's only so far she should have gone, unless she teleported. If she did that…well finders keepers to the first one who finds her. Without her boss's protection she'll be dead within a few months, Marks or no Marks. He can't make himself believe that she ran off on purpose, but it's a possibility.

He would actually like that, as long as he got to her first. Killing that girl is something he's wanted to do for a long time.

Well, he can make sure.

Jack bends and digs through his bag again, then crosses the room to retrieve the cordless house phone. It was nice of the owners to leave this place for the weekend.

He punches in the ten digits and listens to the long, lazy ringing impatiently. Finally the person on the other end picks up.

"Lea, I swear to god if that's you I'm going to kill you. Undesignated just assaulted me, and I so not in a good mood."

Jack groans, "You too?"

Mitch seems to gag, recovers, "Is this Jack?"

"Would you rather it wasn't?"

"No; it might as well be you," The man retches.

"Got the flu?"

"No; Slender-sickness," Mitch coughs, "I think it did it on purpose; nearly killed me. I think my wrist is sprained—"

Jack grimaces, "He threw you around too I see."

"To put it lightly. Anyway; what's wrong?"

"Proxy-girl is gone," Jack says, doing his best to keep any emotion out of his voice.

"No shit; for real?"

"What?" Jack's momentarily thrown by the phrasing, his mind scrambling to comprehend the words. English isn't his first language, "Yes; for real."

"Well…now I can't get mad at her."

"That's not the issue," Jack snaps, "What the hell got to her?!"

Silence for a moment, then Mitch says, "Is it, like, a holiday? Are you all pissed off on the same day?"

"Considering how much bullshit I've been through in the past week; yes." Jack takes a breath, "Just find out if they did anything to her, okay? If she ran away…it's going to make a difference."

"I can tell you right now," The Observer coughs again, "I'm looking at the file. My wrist hurts like a—"

Jack cuts him off, thinking that the end of the sentence is not going to end in the usual way, "Just tell me."

"Hold on, long list…" Mitch yawns, "Looks like they blocked her. The doctors are pretty OCD about records on that."

Jack doesn't reply. That's the end of that dream.

"Oh; blocking means that they—"

"Have a Slenderman remove her memories; I know."

"In this case her entire life," Mitch informs him, "they barely ever do that."

Jack wishes Lea had told him more. He needs answers now more than anything else.

"How did you get this number?" The Proxy asks abruptly.

"Took it off Lea last time I saw her."

"Which was?"

"Three weeks ago. We ran into each other in the middle of nowhere, Arizona. She was really happy, bouncing all over the place; you know how she gets."

There's a slight pause before Mitch says, quietly, "No; I don't."

Jack rubs his neck where the Slenderman choked him, "I just hope her boss was never like that around her. If he was I don't want to find her."

"Never was and probably never would have been. That's one thing I can say with certainty.

"That's good."

Mitch screams, a wordless echoing sound. There's real pain in the sounds; Jack can hear it.

"What?" Jack frowns, wondering if he's about to witness (another) murder.

"My wrist," The man chokes, more out of shock than anything else, "It's not sprained; it's broken, and the bone just—" the rest is cut off as he retches.

Jack sighs; a murder would have been more interesting. "You there?"

"Barely," Comes the reply.

"Just…don't try to set the bone. Get help. Hang up and get help."

"Okay," The man says weakly.

Click.

Jack stares at the phone for a long time for a long time before setting it down. So her boss has gone completely insane. Okay; so it shall be. Lea had been doing more balancing than he'd realized.

He's going to need help. Not a lot of them are going to help in the actual search, but a general outcry will do a lot. If he can get every doll, every wanderer and ghost, every depraved excuse for life on this earth there's a chance. The tiniest chance that she'll be brought back. That means everyone, everywhere, even in Japan, though in all seriousness that place is a hotbed already so she would probably be dead within hours of setting foot there.

His phone rings. Not the house phone; the burner. Jack picks it up.

"Tell me you've got a plan," Jeff starts, "because I've been sitting here for a good ten minutes and I can't come up with a damn thing."

"About Lea?"

"No," Comes the sarcastic reply, "I just found out that I have an illegitimate child; yes about Lea."

"Let's just establish that if you and she had a kid I would kill all three of you."

"No; I'd already be dead," Jeff corrects, then sighs, "My week has been hell and this is not helping."

"Same here," Jack looks around at the neat kitchen, the cupboard, refrigerator, toaster, microwave, everything just so. He should move everything, just to mess with them. He lets his head fall forward, "I wish I had—"

"A hundred soldiers; I know. Do you know how many times I've heard you say that?"

Jack doesn't reply, knowing that Jeff's heard him say it about thousand times.

"A hundred troops or a thousand or a million; it won't make a difference, and you know it. Lea is, let's face it, just another human, and gone."

"Then why are you calling me?" Jack barks out the question, hating the sound of his own voice.

No reply.

"You know we have to find her; if not to save her than to kill her, and don't lie to me you've been dying to put a knife through her heart for months."

"No," Jeff corrects, "years."

"So get your ass moving and do it."

"And?" the Killer says.

"And tell everyone; tell them what she looks like, what she's done, her 'story' if you want to call it that. Get everyone everywhere looking for her. You can contact Ben and Smile; get them to do it too."

"Is a story really going to help?" He sounds skeptical.

"We exist off stories," Jack insists, "the more people who know the stronger we get, and the more like we are to find her."

"You mean start a frenzy?" Jeff asks nervously, for good reason. Frenzies are not pretty.

"It only becomes a frenzy if she's changed beyond recognition. If she hasn't no one will be emotionally capable of it."

"True," Jeff sighs, "Fine; let's get started. It shouldn't take more than three years. After she's 25 or so it won't be worth looking anymore."

"What's three years when you have hundreds ahead of you?"

"It's over a hundred nights I could have spent with strippers."

Jack winces, "I am trying not to picture that."

Jeff laughs, "You're not that bad, old soldier; at least you're trying."

Jack chuckles nervously, "Ya, sure. Get some sleep, and make sure you stay in contact."

"Will do."

Click.

Jack sets the phone down carefully, overly-gently, and then whips around and smashes his fist into the granite countertop. A thin crack shoots out from beneath it, bisecting the whole piece. He stares at the mark, then grins, the smile stretching wide; he's strong. Strong enough to split stone with one hand, and he is going to find this girl. He's going to do this.


	4. Chapter 4: Lea

**AN:** PSA: Don't read Lifetime. It's terrible. I know it's terrible, you know it's terrible, everyone knows it's pretty much the product of 12 year old me's mind. Don't even try it. Just wing it.

* * *

**Reviews:** (Hint hint you can all get responded to here. If I don't PM you.)

Stripesthetiger11: The characterization is a bit weird I know. I have to switch back and forth between "normal" mode and "stab everything" mode. And yes; everyone is in this. There are even weird obscure Creepypasta in here. I'll reference everything at the end.

* * *

[3] Everything

July 11th, 8:00 am

Chapter 4: Lea

What wakes me up is the impact of a small, soft object on my stomach. I sit up fast, sending the black ball of fluff that just attacked my hand onto the floor.

Kitten, I think, then; what's a kitten? What's this soft thing? What's making the light? And what are those things looking at me through the hole in the wall?

The area behind where my consciousness has chosen to see from is pounding. The place the kitten jumped on feels empty and hollow. I'm cold. I'm so unearthly cold I can't stop shivering.

I close my eyes, shake what might be called my head, and open my eyes again. I need to focus; remember.

That was a kitten. The soft thing on top of me is a blanket. The sun is shining through the window, and the things looking through the door are children. And I'm… I'm Lea. My name is Lea.

I smile at the three children gazing at me around the door frame; two boys and one girl. She's a couple years younger than them, and is the only one with blue eyes. The two boys both have identical deep brown eyes and all three of them have frizzy reddish-brown hair, like they might have been redheads with a little more genetic prompting. They just blink at me, shy and nervous.

The kitten jumps up onto the bed next to me, black fur sticking up in spikes, and tentatively sniffs at my hand. It's not very old, probably just taken from its mother, and barely bigger than the hand it's examining.

I raise my right forefinger slowly, the weight of the gold ring there making it heavy, and rub the top of its head. The kitten hunkers down, but doesn't bite or flee.

There's a shriek from one of the boys, sending the kitten down onto the floor and under the bed and making me jump. "She touched Poe!" He yells, and goes running back into the other room, feet pounding on the hardwood.

The other two vanish as well and I'm left sitting there, shivering in a strange bed in a strange place, barely able to recall my own name.

There's a dark hole in my chest, deep and painful, and every time I breathe in I feel a sharp jolt of pain. There seems to be something missing in my mind too; a piece that's fallen out of the puzzle. I try to breathe deeply, but my muscles suddenly stop working properly.

I lay back down, pulling the blanket up over my head. I'm shivering uncontrollably.

The kitten jumps onto the bed and promptly attacks my feet, trying to chew on my toes through the blankets. It waits, but after a couple seconds without movement it assumes the mysterious lumps have been properly vanquished. It pads up the bed and curls up against the back of my neck and purrs quietly. For whatever reason that helps a little.

"Are you okay?" Someone asks. The kitten hisses, and a dog yaps. "No Kip," the person orders sharply.

I try to say something, anything, but I can't remember how. I become aware that I'm crying silently; tears are streaming down my face. Now I'm shaking with sobs as well as shivering.

"H-hey," The voice, clearly female, says, "What's wrong?"

I just shake my head and push myself into a sitting position. The kitten slinks to the other end of the bed, eyeing the dog warily. Maybe that's why I look at the other animal first.

It's a pathetic-looking white puff, barely taller than the girl's ankles. It's wagging its barely-existent poof of a tail back and forth in an uncertain sort of way.

Then my gaze travels up the legs to the girl standing in the doorway. She has long blonde hair that falls below her shoulders in a wave of gold and green eyes that blink at me with something approaching awe. Smooth skin, light in color, brown shirt, blue skirt. She looks a little tired, a little worn-down. I'm a bit taken aback by the immediate feedback from my brain; she's very pretty.

I look down at myself next and immediately notice that my shirt is roughly cut open and even more roughly held together by a safety pin. My skin is paler than hers, a lot paler; almost sickly. Black hair makes an appearance by hanging over one shoulder. There's a long scar on the inside of my left wrist and on my right forefinger is a ring made of gold or something like it. Bringing my hand closer to my face I make out a strange interlocking chain pattern engraved upon it.

I let my hand fall and look back up at the girl. "Am I sick?" I ask.

"How should I know?" She shrugs, makes a face.

I look out the nearby window, which is of the squarish variety, and is framed by pale-pink curtains. It shows me a backyard with a manicured lawn, but a huge pine tree, not a fruit tree or flowerbeds, is standing sentinel. There are balls scattered around the yard and a child's basketball hoop in one corner.

I swallow back an unexpected wave of disgust, look away.

The kitten wriggles and takes a flying leap onto my hand. Its claws are sharp little pinpricks but not very painful. It chews on the finger the ring is on, not breaking skin. I watch it for a second and it returns my gaze with a pair of huge yellow-green eyes.

I roll the kitten over with the hand it's attacking and let it scramble to right itself.

"Well, Poe likes you at least," The girl says.

"Poe is the cat?" I say, rubbing its head with a knuckle.

"He's not really a cat yet, and he usually doesn't like people," She explains brow furrowed.

I'm still thinking about the name, "Poe, as in Edgar Allan Poe?"

"Yes. I like his stuff."

The two boys peer into the room again and vanish.

"And they're Adrian and Daniel. The little one is Janey."

"Janey?" For some reason the name doesn't sit right with me.

"Jane, if you manage to call her that."

I pause, then longer, expecting someone to speak, but no one says anything. I feel tears welling up in my eyes again.

I raise a hand to my face, feel the moisture on my fingertips. Why am I crying?

"Are you sure you're okay?" She says, stepping forward.

"I don't know," I reply, rub the tears away. My voice is hitched with unintentional sobs, if quiet ones.

"What do you know?!" She says, and immediately covers her mouth in shock at her own words. "I'm so sorry."

I lay down and roll away from her so I'm facing the wall. What the hell is wrong with me?

Poe meows at me in an almost concerned way, then begins biting my ear, sharp teeth getting caught in my hair. I try to brush him off but the kitten persists and I finally give in and sit up. He purrs and pounces on my feet.

"Why can't I sleep?" I address the animal, rubbing my eyes. The girl has left the room.

Poe gives me a wide-eyed stare and goes back to fervently attacking my toes. I push him aside, swing my legs over the edge of the bed, and stand up. Then I sit back down as my head spins in a dizzying whirl of tunnel vision.

I blink spots out of my eyes and try again to get to my feet, this time succeeding. Poe scrambles down onto the floor and leaves the room in a blur of black fur.

I look down at myself, wiggle one toe that's visible through my sock. I can't stay here.

I step to the door and find myself looking out of a peculiar short hallway which opens at a right angle to a bathroom on my left and a large open room to my right. Directly ahead is another bedroom which I take to be the boys', judging by the sprawl of toys and the bunk beds. There's even a poster of a superhero on the opposite wall. Who it is I don't know.

I decide the bathroom is the most important of the three options and step inside.

There, in the mirror smudged with fingerprints around the edges and drawings done in steam in the middle, is a face looking back at me. I'm at first taken aback by this other person, then I raise a hand to my cheek and the reflection does the same. Is that me?

I thought I must look terrible. I was wrong; I look worse. I look tired and sore and my eyes are red from crying the purple from exhaustion. But, at the same time, I seem to retain some kind of draw. Not beauty, definitely not, but there is something. My skin doesn't look so sickly now, but closer to porcelain. The lack of pigment is still off-putting.

I wake up in a strange bed in a strange house with no memories whatsoever, and yet my own reflection has the audacity to inform me that I am…something. Also; I'm indignant in general, which might mean that this is not "my first rodeo." That in itself is enough to make me worried.

I use the bathroom, which is in good condition considering that there are three young kids and a teenager in the house, and wash my face. That helps. I leave the room rubbing my eyes, trying to work the soreness out of them.

I glance towards the boys' room, but the door is closed. Back to what I guess is the teenager's bedroom. There are a few items in here that clearly don't belong, and I can only assume that they're mine. There are; a pair of tennis shoes, a black jacket, and a small black backpack. I pull the jacket on, covering my ripped shirt, then pick up the backpack in one hand and the shoes in the other and go into the large room.

The blonde girl, my hostess I suppose, is on the phone. She glances at me with clear green eyes, blinks. "She's awake," she says into the phone.

I set the backpack down against the table and sit on one of the tall chairish-stools to pull my shoes on. There's a kind of dark brown substance in the treads. Running a finger over it reveals it's not dirt.

"No," the girl says, then, "Mom!"

She glances back at me and meets my eyes, then quickly averts her gaze.

"Okay," She replies to something, then walks to me. "Here," she thrusts the phone into my hand.

I raise the phone to my ear, "Hello?"

"Hi sweetie," A cheery voice chimes on the other end. An image of a plump woman with rosy cheeks and fine blonde hair pops into my head.

I blink, unable to speak. Sweetie?

"How are you? I hope you're okay. You gave us a scare last night; passing out like that," the woman continues.

I still can't speak.

"You are okay, right?" She asks, concern creeping into her voice.

"Yes. I'm—I'm fine," I say, feel tears threatening again, "just a bit tired."

"That's good!" She exclaims, "Don't push yourself."

"I was just going to—,"

"Oh, don't mind Minerva. She's not quite as wise as her namesake."

I glance at the girl. She's watching me intently. "I was just leaving. Thank you for letting me stay here."

"Why?" She asks, "Do you have somewhere to be?"

I stop, trying to think; to remember. "I think I do," I say, "but I'm not sure."

"Then stay a while! There's no harm in it. Minerva can feed you, and I'd hate to see a child like you out on your own."

I'm 17, I think with sudden clarity; I am seventeen years old. Into the phone I say, "I really shouldn't—,"

"Don't be ridiculous! I didn't look after you never to see your face, or to throw you out like a stray cat."

I look at Minerva who looks away, arms crossed over her chest. Some part of me notes you figure. "Yes Ma'am."

"Call me Kaylee, sweetie. And cheer up; we aren't all that bad."

"Yes Kaylee. I know."

"I've got to fly, sweetie; I'll see you when I get off work," She practically sings.

"Goodbye, ma'am."

"Don't go running off now."

"I won't. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, sweetie,"

I hand the phone back to Minerva, feeling a little stunned.

She makes a face, "Sorry."

I finish tying my shoes, head spinning with confusion.

The fluffy white dog runs into the room. It wiggles back and forth slightly as it moves. I decide I would like nothing more than to kick it across the room.

Janey trails in after it, still wearing her pajamas. "Kip peed on the floor," She announces. The canine recognizes its name and yaps.

Minerva sighs and turns to go clean up the mess. She snatches the dog off the floor on her way by.

As if by a signal Poe appears from nowhere and curls around my ankles. He hunkers down, paws tucked beneath him, and sniffs at my shoe. I pull my feet up onto the cross-bar of the stool, out of his reach. The kitten meows ad stretches toward me with one paw outstretched.

Janey blinks at me with her blue eyes. "What's your name?" She asks.

"I'm Lea," I reply, like there's something that's supposed to come after it but I blank completely. What's wrong with my head?

I pull my backpack onto my shoulder. It feels hefty but not heavy. I set my feet on the ground and stand up. Poe meows unhappily.

"You look sick," Janey comments.

I don't reply, digging in my pockets. I find an object in my jacket and pull it out. It's a wad of cash almost too big to be reasonable. It's mostly fives and ones, a few tens and a twenty or two, but the total must be close to 80 dollars. I replace it in my pocket.

Minerva reenters the room and goes to the sink to wash her hands. She pauses, then stops and turns to look at me. "What are you doing?"

I shrug.

"Can't you answer anything straight?" She snaps, frustration tinging her words.

"No," I reply, "I can't remember anything."

Minerva is quiet, looking at me. She groans, "Oh; don't tell me you're amnesiac."

"I won't tell you then," Despite the spite in the words I'm feeling oddly disconnected from the situation.

"Well you can't just leave," Minerva protests, "not if you don't remember anything."

"I can't stay here," I say. Fear is suddenly prominent in my mind.

"Yes you can," Janey says, "Eric's room."

Minerva and I look at each other. Not in a friendly way exactly, but not with hatred either.

She gives a little half-grin, "Right; Eric's room. You can sleep there."

I heave a sigh. It's not bad to stay here I guess. Part of me wants to move, and keep moving, but maybe if I stay still that urge will go away. That's what I'm going to have to trust in because these people aren't going to let me leave.

"Why am I here and not in a hospital?" I ask

"Mom looker at you and said you'd be fine," Minerva says.

I frown but say, "Okay." I feel fine, so I can only assume I am.

"What's your last name?" Minerva asks me.

I try to think but there's nothing but a huge painful hungry place in my head, ready to rush forward and swallow me. "I don't know. Yours?"

She hesitates one second, two, then says, "The twins and Janey are Higgins."

"That's a good name," I say without thinking, "Welcoming."

She smiles slightly.

"I, uh, I hate to ask this," I smile a little, "but I'm really hungry. Do you have something, an apple maybe?"

Minerva blinks, "Oh my gosh; I'm sorry. I'll make something for all of us."

Janey makes a disgusted face from behind her back.

I smile down at the little girl, setting the backpack down. I flex my right hand, fingers grasping for something that's not there, barely aware of the action. "I can help. I think I can cook."

Minerva looks relieved, "Sure; if you want to. What should we make?"

I'm already looking at the kitchen, feeling something close to a genuine smile cross my face without reason for doing so, "Pancakes?"


	5. Chapter 5: ?

**AN:** What did I tell you about lifetime? Don't read it. What did you all do? You all read it. Good job guys. Basic instruction following 101: failed.

You're going to have to bear with me for the next few chapters. Biology is a pain and Spanish is slowly killing me. I need to focus on my grades, as much as it pains me. I'm pretty sure I failed that last Spanish test. That means the next few months might be spotty in terms of updates. I'm still always up for a chat.

* * *

**Review:**

Stripesthetiger11: Oh ya; dead within two weeks. Lea's a bit useless outside of what she knows. Right now that's nothing. As for the pancake thing… Wouldn't you want to pay them back for helping you?

* * *

[4] Told

July 15th, 4:00 pm

5\. ?

Jenifer Oreman leaves her apartment at four in the afternoon and crosses the hall to her daughter's apartment. The light gray carpet under her shoes deadens her footsteps until they're barely audible to her own ears. She slides the key into the lock and turns it, opening the door with a muted click. She tries to push it in but the door meets with sudden and solid resistance, as if a dresser has been moved in front of it.

Jenifer takes a step back, letting out a long loud sigh. Almost 11 months previously her daughter had informed her, by way of a letter slipped under her door, that there was someone or something staying in that apartment. She's tried to coexist, after she attempted to call an exorcist, priest, and police on the inhabitant. All these attempts met with failure, and in one case a very scared and very sick psychic who kept rambling about the "tall man." "There's a tall man here, a tall man, a tall man!" She had shrieked, blood running down her face and shirt from her nose.

When she finally ran out of options Jenifer listened to her husband's advice and gave peaceful coexistence a try. Not that the thing had ever been particularly violent in the past. Now she's thinking that it's finally decided to do something.

Jenifer pushes the door again, and this time it opens smoothly. There isn't anything blocking it, not anymore. She peeks inside; everything seems normal. All the furniture is in its usual place and the sparse decorations are untouched. A fine layer of dust has collected on them. Or, more accurately, it's collected on all but one. A new piece of pottery she had placed on the coffee table has been neatly broken into four pieces and now sits on the coffee table.

Jenifer approaches hesitantly, unsure what to expect and half expecting something to jump out at her and tear her face off. It's just a piece of broken pottery, nothing more.

There's a piece of light-blue paper tucked beneath one of the pieces. Jenifer extracts it and carefully reads the words. It's written in a hand neater than her daughter's. The writer hooks their letters a little at the end, giving them a spidery appearance.

"I'm sorry. I don't know where she is."

Suddenly her head is pounding, and she can feel a mind-numbing vibration in the air. She makes herself keep reading before realizing that there's nothing more to read. There's nothing else on the paper. She places the paper back down carefully, her head spinning.

"She's gone?" She says slowly, uncomprehending. Then it clicks and horror comes rushing in, overturning tables in her head and sending thoughts spilling onto the ground. "What do you mean she's gone?!"

To Jenifer's shock there's a response; a sound of fabric and flesh. It doesn't sound human, not at all. She whips towards the noise determined to face death head-on, but nothing is there except a new piece of paper. She picks it up, crinkling it slightly in her hand.

"You know she doesn't remember what you did. Her mind blocks it out, makes happy memories, but I saw. I was watching."

Jenifer swallows hard. What are they talking about?

The atmosphere is hostile now. The buzzing has been amplified to an almost unbearable level.

"I'm sorry," She says lamely, hollowly. Nothing happens, not for a few seconds. Then there's that sound again; that sickening otherworldly sound. Jenifer turns around again more slowly and retrieves the paper from the counter.

"She was everything to me."

"She was my daughter," She says aloud.

Rustle, "She wasn't, not for years, even before she knew me."

"Why are you talking to me?" There's a long pause.

"You're her mother. You should know. At least that's Lea's logic."

"You didn't do anything? You looked with her friends? Called the police, the FBI, someone?" An even lengthier pause, until Jenifer is sure that they've left. Right when she's about to leave there's the noise again. The note is stained with ink, as if the person accidentally snapped the pen.

"Yes. Some people will look for her. I am too, when I can."

Jenifer goes to speak but is interrupted by the sound again and another paper behind her.

"You're not crying. Even the Killer cried a little when I told him."

"You're not crying," She points out.

"I can't. I don't have eyes."

Jenifer swallows hard, throat working almost into a gagging motion. She starts backing towards the door slowly, but when her hand finds the knob there's a paper balanced there.

"You don't love her, do you?"

"I love her," Jenifer gasps, "She's my daughter."

A thought enters her head seemingly of its own accord, beating like a heartbeat, "I want to kill you, kill you, kill you—,"

Jenifer yanks the door open, leaps out into the hallway, and slams it behind her. She's taking in great gulps of air, leaning against the door. She feels a warm wetness on her upper lip and sees a drop of blood fall and stain her shirt in a perfect circle.

After a few seconds something occurs to her, and she says, almost on instinct, "Did you love her?" A piece of blue paper slips out from beneath the door near her feet.

"I don't know if I'm capable of love." Rustle, "I don't know how to identify some emotions. Lea taught me that."

Jenifer takes the paper, adds them to the stack in her hands, and calmly rips them down the middle, then down the middle again, until their barely more than confetti.

"Are you okay?" Someone asks. The woman turns her head to see a man at the end of the hallway. He looks normal enough with brown hair and blue eyes. He's pale, like he spends most of his time inside. He's carrying a bag in one hand; smallish but not small, and black.

He says something to himself under his breath and steps forward, "Did he hurt you?"

Jenifer blinks, "Who?"

"The person in that room."

"Oh. No."

"Good, I suppose, but you should do something about that nose."

Jenifer raises her hand and touches the painless blood. She tries the door behind her. It doesn't move.

"Is everyone in your family such a glutton for punishment?"

"What?"

"You are scrambled," He bends down a little to see into her face, "but at least your eyes are focused."

Jenifer just looks at him.

"Aren't you going to invite me in? I'm a friend of your daughter after all."

That shocks her out of her stupor, "I'm sorry; where are my manners." She shuffles across the hall and opens the door to her own apartment. Fingers with painted nails find the blood on her face, dab uncertainly, then fall.

The man follows her into the room, a passive smile on his face.

Jenifer ducks into another room to clean the blood off her skin and change her shirt. When she returns she finds the man gazing at the pictures of Lea from years ago. He's picked one up of a much younger Lea, grinning, one front tooth missing, hanging upside down from monkey bars.

"She could have been a gymnast," Jenifer says.

The man turns his head, looks at her with the shocked expression of someone who's just been pulled out of hypnosis.

"She never had the patience for the lessons," Jenifer continues, "Couldn't hold still long enough to be taught."

He nods slightly, "I just… I never thought of her as an actual person until now. Never thought about the fact that she had a family besides us." He seems to shake himself and offers his hand to her, "Mrs…?"

"Oreman." She shakes his powerful hand gently. He squeezes too tight.

"Mrs. Oreman; nice to meet you. I'm Doctor Damion Reed."

"Doctor?"

"PHD in medicine. It's going to waste, believe me." He grins a little.

"Would you like something to drink? Tea, coffee?"

"No, thank you." He removes flask from his bag, "bad habits."

"Please; sit down."

He glances at the pictures almost longingly but takes a seat across from Jenifer at the table. The metal flask clinks as he sets it down.

"What do you know about my daughter?"

He goes to speak, but a ringtone interrupts. It's a high shrill noise, complaining. "Excuse me," He checks his screen, slides to unlock it, reads something. Then he sighs and puts the phone away, "Sorry about that. Base,"

She just blinks at him.

"Work," He substitutes, then his mouth quirks into an unnerving grin, "Or life, I guess. Somewhere your daughter got that exact same notification."

"What are you-?"

Dr. Reed is already reaching into the bag next to him, "I'm not technically supposed to show you this stuff, but you should probably know." He produces a file folder and lets it fall onto the table.

"What is that?" Jenifer asks.

He heaves the bag up onto the table, showing her the contents. A confusing tumble of notebooks, masks, and glints of steel. "Lea's belongings."

Jenifer reaches out to touch a mask and Dr. Reed smacks her hand hard, reddening the skin. She winces in pain.

"I'm sorry; but this stuff isn't for you." He unscrews the cap of the flask and takes a swallow.

"But I'm her mother," Jenifer insists.

"Who she barely spoke to for the past two years," He puts the lid back on the flask.

"But—,"

"I really hate to tell you this. I never had kids, so I don't know what it's like, but I don't think she thought or cared about you or her father. She never even mentioned you to me; I had to dig through the files to check if she was an orphan or not."

"Why would she be an orphan?!" Jenifer can't contain her temper, but Dr. Reed doesn't seem concerned.

"They're just the sort we get. Orphans, minor criminal offenders, sadists. Your daughter had close dealings with a man who has three restraining orders filed against him." He shrugs, "Actually a pretty nice guy. They never had any real issues."

"Pardon me?" Jenifer asks.

Dr. Reed sighs. He rubs his temples with two fingers, "For the past two and a half years your daughter has been a member of our organization."

"She told me she was with The Academy."

He shrugs, "She lied. She did a lot of that. I'm just getting to see the big picture." He takes a deep breath, "It wasn't a good idea to block her; I'll give you that. She wasn't the right person to choose, but it wouldn't have been a problem past the immediate future, but something went very wrong and we lost her. We don't know where she is."

"What's 'blocking?'" Jenifer asks.

Dr. Reed pauses, "It's where one of the masters removes someone's memories. It's not supposed to be permanent; recall is usually part of the process."

"Wait; remove her memories?!"

He nods.

"Is this some kind of joke? You and that thing across the hall?"

This time he shakes his head very slowly, "She would have smacked you for calling him a 'thing.'"

"Get out of my house." Jenifer says, voice flat.

"Certainly," Dr. Reed gets up, "I guess I know now why she never talked about you."

"Pardon?"

But he's taking a long drink from the flask and doesn't reply. Then he heaves the file up off the table and tucks it back into the bag.

"Tell me what the hell is wrong with my daughter!"

When Damion Reed looks up at her he has a strange look in his eyes, like he's about to snap, "Your daughter has a terminal medical condition that's triggered by mental stress. If she doesn't get the proper medication she might not last a year out there."

"No; Lea's never had any medical problems."

He just shakes his head, taking a step towards the door.

"Tell me what the hell is going on!" Jenifer makes a grab towards him.

And suddenly Dr. Reed has a knife pressed against the skin of her throat, the sharp edge drawing a thin line of blood. Jenifer stops talking.

"They were trying to help her," He says, and now he's grinning widely, so wide it must be hurting him, "because the Hunters are coming for her and The Organization is closing in. We have no allies so we're hiding the only way we know how: we're disappearing. A Doctor drove her away and left her somewhere and when he got back he had no memory of the entire time."

Jenifer is beginning to get the impression the "Doctor" has a few screws loose and says nothing.

He lets her go that maniac smile still on his face, "Honestly I don't think you deserve more of an explanation." He turns and leaves the apartment, slamming the door behind him so hard a nearby picture falls off the wall and smashes on the floor.

Jenifer walks to the door behind him, shaking. She opens it a crack and watches in amazement as the man crosses the hall and knocks on the door. He opens it, leans in, and puts the bag down. Then he steps back and closes the door, and walks towards the stairs. He raises one hand to his face as if wiping away tears.

As soon as he's gone Jenifer tries the door again. It doesn't move.

Rustle, the sound of flesh and things that aren't supposed to exist. A piece of paper appears under the door.

"Leave me alone."


	6. Chapter 6: Ana

**AN:** Fair warning; the weekend of the 27th I might not be able to update. Why they thought I was a good candidate for the leadership conference I don't know. Whatever.

Have fun with this one. I love writing about Eyeless Jack. He and I are on the same wavelength.

* * *

**Reviews:**

Superkassu: I'm saving the actual encounter for later. That'll be a barrel of fun. (Don't tempt me to solve everything by giving Jeff a knife and free reign because that honestly sounds like fun.)

Stripesthetiger12: *Damion. You confused me because I know someone named Norman Reed. That's actually kind of an accurate picture, except sub the pencil in for a stack of pens he accidentally broke. (The confusion is on purpose. Don't worry.)

* * *

[4] Told

August 5th, after dark

6\. Ana

"What have we got?" Ana asks even before she gets all the way inside the van.

The man sitting there is drinking a coffee out of a Styrofoam cup. He looks up at the sound of her voice and smiles, stretching the heavy bags under his eyes.

"Ana," He says, "thank god."

"What's wrong?" She sits beside him.

"It's almost been 30 minutes; you're about to see."

Ana leans forward, watching a digital timer count down from one minute. When it reaches 30 seconds the short-range radio beeps.

The man reaches over and hits a button, "Receiving."

"30 minutes," replies a voice, all too familiar. Ana has dreams about that voice, "Is she there yet?"

"Where's Tanny?"

There's a noise as the radio on the other end is moved, and this time the voice is female with a slight tremor, "I'm fine."

"Has he done anything to you?" The man asks.

"No. We talked about school for a bit."

He gives Ana a confused look. She smiles back at him and shrugs.

"Well?" The male voice says.

Ana grabs the microphone, "Right here."

"Get in here," He says, and the line clicks off.

Ana stands up without missing a beat, stepping out of the van.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" the man says, leaning back in his chair to watch her.

"This is EJ here; he's not prone to violence."

"He also had no problem knocking Tanny out in three seconds flat, tying her up, and keeping her hostage."

"And how old is she?"

"16,"

Ana groans, "You didn't."

"It worked once."

"That was a special case. Do not throw minors into this situation again."

"Yes ma'am, but I don't understand why it's any different."

Ana bites back her instinctual reply and says, "Because no matter not peaceful they seem, they can and will kill anyone at any time."

The radio clicks, "I'm waiting."

Ana hops out of the van and walks towards the only lighted house on the street. She ignores the front door, walking to the back, and there she knocks twice in quick succession.

Instantly the door opens. Ana stares at Jack in disbelief , not because of the mask, but because he's covered in blood and his hair is in tangled disarray. The man doesn't seem to be breathing. He doesn't look happy.

The two of them stand there, looking at each other, for what must be 30 seconds.

Finally Jack says, "You look older."

Ana grins, "You look younger."

He tousles his own hair with bloody fingers, slicking it up into spikes, but he steps out of the way. Ana slides past him, trying not to breathe in the smell of blood.

The way to the right room is clear; the door is open. It's a bedroom, it would be, and there are two people there already. One of them is in a chair, hands tied behind her and a blindfold over her eyes. This must be Tanny. The other person is a man laying spread-eagled on the bed. The blankets are pulled down around his hips and his stomach it cut open, the flesh pulled back and pinned to his own sides. Several of his organs have been partially or totally removed, piles of oozing stinking flesh is heaped on both sides of him. At first Ana thinks he's dead, but then she sees the slow rise and fall of his chest.

She turns away, focusing on not throwing up.

"He's sedated; can't feel a thing," Jack says, stepping up behind Ana. She just nods.

The girl in the chair turns her head towards the sounds of Jack's voice and Ana is suddenly aware of her presence, more than she would like to be when she was near Jack. This doesn't seem like Jack though, not really. This seems broken, unstable.

"Who's there?" The girl asks.

"Hey," Ana crouches in front of her, even though she can't see, grateful to redirect her attention from the man, "How are you?"

"I'm fine, ma'am, just a little sore."

"Have you been blindfolded long?"

"Since I woke up."

Ana glances back at Jack. He's looking at the man on the bed critically, as if he were a piece of art.

"Is everything okay, ma'am?"

"I'm Ana, sweetheart. You don't have to worry about anything."

"You never got used to this, did you?" Jack cuts in.

Ana stands, "I'm not throwing up."

"That doesn't mean you're used to it."

She shrugs.

Jack looks down at himself, flexes long fingers. Ana notices his right thumb is bleeding from what must be hundreds of tiny puncture wounds. He seems to shake himself and his shoulders shudder. Then his head whips up, "Is this some kind of joke?"

Ana takes a step back at the tone, "What?"

"The girl,"

Tanny flinches.

"I already told the guy in the van off. I could yell at him is it would make you feel better."

"It's not funny Ana," He spits, "this is not something to joke about. What if you sent someone in here and I snapped? The most you'd get back is a few fingers."

Ana doesn't reply, looking at Jack. Now that she's trying to see there's something clearly wrong. He can't stop twitching, can't focus on anything for longer than two seconds. He's bouncing slightly on his toes, like it's a way to keep calm.

"Are you okay?" She asks.

Jack nods, "This is normal. I'm fine."

"You sure?"

He nods, keeps nodding, still bouncing, one hand flexing like its squeezing a trigger. "It will go away in a couple days."

"What will?"

"The flashbacks," He pushes his hands into his temples, "It hurts."

"Flashbacks of what?" Ana asks, because surely his life now is worse than anything experienced before.

Jack gives her a long slow look, says something she can't understand but sounds a lot like German. "It's like," He starts, "I'm here, talking to you, and the next second I'm standing outside. There's hot sun beating down and I'm all bunched into this tight uniform, my feet are sore from standing and there's sweat collecting under my collar. We, the other guards and I, watch this train roll towards us, cattle cars all the way down, and stop, and a couple of the guys step out and heave the doors open and all these people—," Jack stops himself as his voice breaks a little. He pushes his mask up and bites his thumb. Ana can hear the sound of teeth meeting bone.

Tanny starts to say something. Ana hears her draw breath.

"Be quiet, Tanny," Ana says. A sharp sense of danger is slithering up her spine as she watches Jack tear into his own flesh. He's still bouncing on his toes.

"But that means he's a—,"

"Was," Ana snaps, "now be quiet. I could just leave you here."

"You're making threats," Jack says, examining his lacerated thumb, "you might survive this after all."

"And you're disemboweling people so you should tell me what's going on."

Jack seems to force himself to be still, and when he speaks he seems a little calmer, "Who said there's something going on? Maybe I just wanted to say hi."

"You never say hi," Ana says, "Or is once every 10 months your quota?"

"So you've been counting," A smile pulls at his mouth.

"This stuff has been repeating in yearly cycles. I wanted to be prepared."

"Prepared for what?"

She shrugs, "Anything."

Jack starts to say something, but his head turns towards Tanny for a second and he gives it a little shake, as if to shake off a thought.

That was going to be a sexual innuendo, Ana thinks.

"To tell the truth until a week ago I was still kin of sore you shot me," Jack says.

Ana winces.

"Excuse me," Tanny says from behind Ana, "but could you two stop flirting? It's grossing me out."

Jack and Ana look at each other. The woman feels her face heat up, but she sees his mouth quirk into a smile. Jack laughs, low and soft, then growing in volume for a good ten seconds. In that sound the insanity is evident. It sends shiver up Ana's spine.

Jack stops laughing and Ana watches a single black tear trace down his cheek.

"You're right," He says, running fingers below his eyes and streaking the black liquid over his cheekbone, "I didn't call you out here to say hi."

"See?" Ana directs the question to Tanny even though the girl can't see what's going on. "He never calls to say hi."

Both Jack and Tanny remain silent, Jack watching her through the mask with disapproving eyes.

"Proxy-girl is gone," He says flatly. He pulls the mask back down over his mouth with one hand and moves towards the man on the bed.

"Gone," Ana repeats, "dead?"

Jack shakes his head, leaning forward to see into the open cavity of the man's body, "Not dead, at least I don't think so."

"Why?"

"Because her boss showed up and nearly broke my neck. If she were dead he would be asleep, and neither of us would speak to him again, no matter how long we lived."

Ana nods, but the sentence barely makes sense, "Is there a real difference?"

Jack visibly tenses, "Yes. As long as she's not dead there's still a chance we can get her back."

Ana sighs, "That 'we' doesn't include me, does it?"

Jack doesn't reply. He reaches bloody fingers into the open abdomen of the man, bending his elbow to reach below the ribcage.

Tanny is squirming behind Ana again. She appears to be attempting to remove the blindfold. Ana watches her work it down using a shoulder until two eyes blink in the light. The woman signals for the girl to remain silent as she sees Tanny's eyes widen in fear.

Ana removes her handgun from its holster, just to reassure the girl. She knows it won't do any real damage.

Jack raises his head, looking at the gun. He seems to glance at Tanny, then shrugs, "I just didn't want you freaking before Ana ot here. You can watch now."

"So that's why you're disemboweling people; Lea's missing?"

"No. The vivisection thing comes and goes, like the flashbacks. It was bad look that meeting with you and it coincided."

"This is like a period for monsters?" Tanny doesn't seem to register her own words, eyes huge and pupils dilated in panic.

Jack looks at the girl again, surprised, based on his body language. One of his hands is still inside the man's chest. When he speaks there's a smile in the words, "No; nothing like menstruation."

Ana pulls them both back on topic, "But you wanted to tell me what she's gone. Why?"

"Courtesy," Jack seems to get a hold of something beneath the man's ribcage. He's bent almost parallel to the bed now. "She was with your organization for a while."

Ana is starting to think that he really did just want to see her. It's seeming more and more likely, but that's probably just wishful thinking.

Jack takes a deep breath and rips downward in a single motion. There's the sound of tearing flesh. The man on the bed jerks into consciousness and lets out a scream of agony Ana has never heard the like of. Jack is holding the man's heart almost mockingly before his eyes. It beats once, twice, blood oozing from valves in pathetic spurts at the muscle goes slack.

Ana gags at the sight, glad she didn't eat lunch. She turns away quickly. Tanny is staring in horror.

"See; you're not used to it," Jack says from behind her.

Ana clenches her hands to stop them shaking, "Can anyone get used to that?"

"A lot of people can."

There's a strange soft noise, squishy. Ana moves in front of Tanny, blocking her view. The girl closes her eyes, face pale.

"Jack," Ana says, "can we go?"

"Hmm?" He swallows, "Go ahead."

She steps forward, leaning around Tanny to untie her hands. The girl gets shakily to her feet, favoring a leg that must have fallen asleep.

"Come on," Ana says, pushing the girl towards the door. Tanny resists, eyes closed tight.

"You don't give people information injection anymore?" Jack asks, still out of view.

"No," Ana replies, "it didn't work properly. Facts go in okay, but the subjects have problems actually applying the knowledge. They need to be retaught."

"Probably better that way."

"You're not the one who has to retake algebra."

Jack makes a soft noise of agreement. There's another squishy noise that Ana interprets as the heart being bitten into again.

Tanny starts walking again abruptly, leaving the room. Ana tries to follow, but there's a hand on her shoulder, the fingers red with half-congealed blood.

"This isn't just a courtesy, Ana. If The Organization finds her tell me, or Ben, or anyone, just get her back to us."

"I can't promise that."

"Please?"

"Just answer one question, truthfully," Ana says, and Jack nods in understanding, "Why do you all care about her so much?"

"We don't, not really. I would have no problem killing her. Or you."

"Answer the question, Jacky."

The man hisses but says, "I don't know. There have been others like her, who make us calmer. They turn up every few decades. The last two for me have been males, but some get girls. It's totally random."

"What happened to the others?"

"One question, not two," Jack takes his hand off her shoulder, "and the next time your people try to ambush me they'll wake up without livers."

Ana resists a sudden mad urge to turn around and hug him, leaving the room. She won't be caught doing that.

Tanny is in the backyard, throwing up in a flowerbed. She wipes her mouth as Ana approaches. "Who's Proxy-girl?" She asks.

"A Proxy; isn't that obvious?"

"What's a Proxy?"

"I'll pull you the file at base."

"Why are you in charge?"

Ana shrugs, "They haven't found a replacement for The Inspector yet."

The girl retches again. When she comes up she says, "I don't want to do this anymore."

Ana nods.

"It just sounded so heroic, you know? All that talk about revenge and evil, everyone being so gun-ho about it."

"But it's not?"

"No. Not after that. Jesus; that was awful."

"We'll fis you up back at base. You can go back home."

Tanny nods wordlessly.

"It's okay," Ana sets a hand on her shoulder, pulling the girl upright, "come on."

She hugs Tanny with one arm as they make their way back around to the front of the house.

Ana looks up into the house and sees Jack watching. She didn't realize his hair had grown until right then, but it's flopping down into his eyes, which are exposed because his mask is pushed up onto his head.

He gives a half-smile and runs fingers below one scarred eye to remove black tears.

He looks sad, Ana thinks, sad enough to break her heart a little if she didn't know exactly what he'd just been doing. She takes a deep breath and looks back up, but Jack is gone. In his place is a single bloody handprint, like he'd been pressing his hand to the glass in farewell.


	7. Chapter 7: Lea

**AN:** Reminder: No update next weekend. I'm going down to Chico for a school thing. Wish me luck because it sounds so painful.

* * *

**Review:**

Superkassu: Eyeless Jack is my favorite person to write, regardless of the fact that he's a bit of a pain. There is meaning behind the calming thing. I don't know if I'll be able to explain it in this fic or not. The 12 year old inside you is exactly what I was aiming for.

* * *

[5] Begin

September 5th, 12:20 PM

7\. Lea

I manage to dart into the girl's bathroom after 3rd block and find it quiet. Not that the period is actually over yet. There's still five minutes left. Even though there's no one else present I go into one of the stalls, sit down, and try to calm my breathing there.

My hands are shaking, and my heart is pounding. To make matters worse I'm shivering in the cold air. I'm so cold, always so cold. I thought I was getting used to it, but I guess I was wrong.

Yet again I feel like I'm missing a chunk of myself, like a piece of my brain has been neatly sliced out of my head, leaving a gaping and tangible hole. It hurts like hell but not like a cut. It aches and aches in my chest.

Crowds: I hate crowds. They suffocate me. The sound; voices, conversation. I yearn for even a second of silence. And…is it bloodlust; the need to lash out, to see red? I don't know.

I stand up and leave the stall, shrugging my backpack up onto my shoulder again. It's the one I had when I got here. I didn't see the point of buying a new one. While washing my hands, even though I didn't even use the toilet, I glance into the mirror. The person looking back at my looks like a complete stranger, even more than the one that first day did. New clothes, perfect hair, bright-blue eyes. The only part I recognize are the bags under my own eyes; souvenirs of sleepless nights.

I rub my face with dripping hands, trying to get rid of this feeling.

The door of the bathroom opens as I'm drying my face on a paper towel. Minerva looks in at me, her head tilted slightly to the right, which is something she does unconsciously and that I noticed almost immediately.

"Are you okay?" She asks.

"Math is boring," I reply, tossing the paper towel into the garbage.

"How can calculus be boring?" She says, eyes wide in surprise.

"I just…" I make a fluttering gesture with my hand, "I feel like I know it already."

"Weird," She says slowly.

I heave a sigh and pull my schedule out of my back pocket. So far I've had Physics, US History, and Calculus. After lunch is English 11. The schedule here is a block, so that's all I have. It'll switch next semester.

"It's lunch right now," Minerva says, "I'm going to walk to a café. You want to come?"  
I look up from the paper, "Is there time?"

"If we leave in the next few minutes,"

I feel my stomach contract in hunger, "Sure."

Minerva turns around, and I feel my eyes unfocus the world blur. My brain is loud, too loud. It's pounding with meaningless white noise.

"You coming?"

"Yes."

She leads me downstairs and out into the shivering air. There are people in the hallways, eating and talking or just working out of textbooks. A few of them give me curious looks as we pass, but the majority ignore us altogether.

There's a patio outside with a few trees, the remains of wildflowers. Juniors and seniors are loading into cars, driving out of the parking lot. I find myself regarding the students with curiosity and some dislike.

A girl waves to us from one of the little pods of students.

"Finally," She says, "I'm starving." Her eyes settle on me, "Is this her?"

Minerva keeps right on walking, pulling the entire group with her. I resist the urge to turn around and walk away. Minerva turns around, walking backwards down a shallow flight of concrete stairs. She gives me a prompting look, and I look out over the highway, to the ragged crags of granite in the distance.

"This is Lea," Minerva says, and I hear the exasperation in her voice, "She's staying with my family."

"The one with amnesia?" One of the boys asks. He has dirty blond hair that sticks up around his ears and brown eyes.

I nod in response. They're all looking at me, two boys and three girls including Minerva. I squirm under their eyes.

"I'm Rosaline," Says the girl with chestnut hair.

The blonde boy wolf-whistles and gets a hard shove. He stumbles down the rest of the stairs.

I feel a smile pull at my lips.

"He's Jimmy," Minerva sighs.

"Taylor," Says the pale, sallow girl. She's a bit generous around the middle.

"And I'm Mike," The mousy-haired boy finishes.

"Nice to meet you all," I say, trying to hold onto the names for longer than a few seconds.

There's a few seconds of awkward silence here that I'm perfectly happy to let drag out. Finally Rosaline speaks up, "Do you really not remember anything?" Her head turns back to look at me as she speaks and Minerva throws her arm out to stop her walking into the path of a car backing out of a parking slot.

"I don't remember anything actively," I say, "When I don't think about it little things come through."

"Like what?"

I shrug, "Weird stuff. It's all incoherent."

Rosaline loses interest, eyes sliding forward again.

I roll my eyes and turn to inspect the road. Across the street a small dark building is advertising burrito lunch specials for students. There's a small crowd around the door.

Jimmy yelps as he trips over nothing. He grabs Mike around the shoulders, making him stumble under his weight and almost fall too.

"You trying to kill me, man?" Mike says, face pulled into a mocking frown. I wince as what might be comparable to an electric shock goes through my head.

"Yes," The other boy replies, straight-faced. Mike pounces on him with a mock roar.

I feel my vision go blurry, my head bursting into a blinding wave of light—_shadows and warm light, harsh laughter, rough hands ruffling my hair, the outlines of three people. I'm leaning back against something warm and solid. I turn my head to look and—_I'm on the street, cold wind on my skin and gritty pebbles beneath my shoes. There's a burning nauseous pain in my stomach and a deep aching pain in my chest.

"Lea!" Minerva shouts.

I blink and realize I've stopped waling. The rest of the group is several yards ahead, looking back. I jog for a few seconds to catch up.

"You don't look so great," Taylor says to me.

"I'm fine."

She gives me a long look before her eyes slide off my face. I notice a keychain on her waist; a character or a knife, blood collecting along the sharp edge. I look away.

Minerva hands back until she's level with me. the rest of the group heads into the café, but she stops me with a light touch. I shiver under her hand.

"Rosaline is a bit of an...occultist," Minerva says, "I'm warning you now."

That's the wrong word, I think to myself. "She doesn't seem like a problem."

"Well; she might try to hypnotize you or something so watch out. Read your fortune with tarot cards, that kind of thing."

"I'm sure it will be fine," I say, smile at her reassuringly. Her green eyes are sparkling a little in the sun.

Minerva blinks, "Do you want something to eat? I have money."

I feel my stomach twist, nausea and hunger fighting for dominance. "Maybe something small."

She smiles and I feel an unexpected rush of warmth along with the very distinct desire to carve her face into a clown-like grin.

The next second my body goes cold as we step into the building after the others. It's packed full of people, and my head starts to spin from all the noise and the heat of so many bodies in a small space. I can barely see straight, much less order something, so when Minerva asks me what I want I just say she can get me whatever and step out of line.

I back up against a wall, between a framed photo of an Olympic skier and a recently-vacated table. I find I'm biting the side of my thumb, feeling the hard bone between my teeth. It's helping a little.

"She's a bit odd, don't you think?" I hear someone say, and I try to identify the speaker through the crowd. It's Minerva's blonde guy-friend, Jimmy, speaking to the two girls.

Rosaline glances my way, "Ya. She's a bit weird. She keeps doing this thing with her hand; it's creeping me out."

"What thing?"

"Like this," She opens and closes her hand, like she's reaching from something. "There she goes again, see?"

I look down at my right hand and see it's closing in air, something I didn't know was happening at all. I feel shame color my cheeks and restrain it with my other hand.

I leave the building, preferring the cold air to the suffocating atmosphere in there. I find a place on the wooden bench outside and shift in place, trying to find a comfortable position.

I feel an odd twinge, like someone is watching me, and look up. There's someone across the street from me; a woman with red hair and a patch over one eye. She meets my gaze and her face goes very pale. She darts into the bus station building, out of my view.

"Hey, you okay?"

It's Minerva, holding some kind of wrap thing. I only register that it's green. She follows my eyes to the bus station, "You aren't thinking about leaving again, are you?"

As soon as she says the words I have to resist the need to run across the street and onto the bus that's pulling up. I feel the blukj if $80 in my pocket and I know I could leave, run away.

"No," I say to Minerva, "it's that woman, there." I point to the redhead at she crosses to the bus.

"What about her—," Minerva cuts herself off as the woman looks at us again. Her on green eye flashes at us from beneath red hair, then she's gone onto the bus.

"Hmm," I say, feeling a smile on my lips.

Minerva's gone very still.

"What?"

"Nothing," She says, recovering, but her hands are shaking as she passes me the green wrap thing.

I watch the redhead take a seat through the window. She turns her head and sticks out her tongue at me, then calmly flips me off through the glass. I wrinkle my nose but smile and she looks the other way.

"You going to walk back with us?" Minerva asks.

I shake my head, "No."

"You sure?"

"I get the feeling your friends don't like me much."

She frowns, "Don't say that."

"I have some stuff from pre-calc I want to look over anyway," I excuse myself, getting to my feet. I glance again at the woman in the bus before it rolls away. She avoids my eyes.

"If you say so," Minerva says, watching the bus too. "Find me after school. I have to show you where the bus is."

"Okay," I give a little wave over my shoulder as I walk away.

I haven't gone more than a few steps before I hear someone say, "Hey."

I look up and instantly recognize him as the boy who sat next to me in Physics.

"Hello," I say.

"Neil," He offers one hand, tanned from summer sun, "I didn't get the chance to talk to you in class. That old wheeze-bag could rattle on forever."

I smile slightly and shake his hand. His fingers are stronger and sturdier than my slim digits. "I'm Lea."

"I got that," He flashes a wide smile, brown yes glittering. He brushes blonde hair back with his fingers.

I'm suddenly very aware I'm holding a saran-wrapped bundle if bread and meat in my left hand.

"Did you understand anything he said in physics?"

"I got most of it," I say, "but it wasn't that interesting."

"Physics is fun," His eyes are still sparkling, "or at least the fieldtrip at the end is."

"There's a field trip?"

"Ya. They shove everyone into buses and take us to Six Flags and we go to somewhere else and jump in the wind tunnel."

"Sounds fun," I say, even though my guts twist at the very thought.

"It's something to look forward to at least."

I don't say anything, start walking towards the school again. Neil follows, just like the Sophomores did earlier when Minerva kept walking.

"I, uh," His eyes flick away from me, "I heard you have amnesia."

I nod, "For all I know I already finished high school."

"You're not the only one," He says, "There're ten people that recently turned up; all of them missing their recent pasts."

"Weird," I say, but the news has set off an alarm bell in my head.

"That's not the important bit. What I was wondering is why you're here."

"Define 'here.'"

"I mean in this town, because there has to be a reason; right?"

"What are you trying to say?" I ask, not looking at him.

"I don't know,"

I look at him sideways, waiting for the shock of recognition, for the buzz of a memory, but there's nothing. Nothing but a slow desire to tear this creature up, to bring his blood rushing down around his lifeless body, to paint on his skin with the tip of a knife.

Neil is looking at me too, his head turned a little toward me. There's an indulgent smile on my face, "You're kinda cute," He says, shocking me out of my bloody fantasy.

"What?"

"Forget it; it's nothing."

I look away, mind already focusing on something else.

"What do you have next?" Neil says.

"English," I say. I have to raise my head slightly past what's comfortable to make eye contact with him.

"Me too. Come on; you can show me where your locker is."

I bite back the words, "I don't want you anywhere near my locker," before they can escape, and smile at him at him as we approach the building, hiding the uneaten wrap behind my back.


	8. Chapter 8: Slender

**AN:** Not my favorite chapter. Definitely not. But, oh well, I'm back. Back from midterms and an ungodly amount of English homework and Spanish tests. Thank goodness for spring break.

* * *

**Reviews:**

Rose(Guest): I do hope you're reading this. Hunter kinda sucked. The plotline was weak and I thought about not writing it at all. This one will be better, if you stick around.

Was Hunter really published on your birthday?

* * *

[5] Begin

September 5, late afternoon

8\. Slender

Two months. Two months since my Lea went away, and I still can't get through the pain of the loss. Not the initial pain; that was gone in a couple days. This is the deeper aching pain of emotional confusion. I can't stand the thought of her out there somewhere, being hurt, maybe even been shipped and sold like an animal. I can barely consider that she's in a decent situation, as if on some level I believe I was what made her existence worth anything; which isn't true and I know it.

When these thoughts aren't filling my mind, and when there isn't anyone to torment or murder, I dive back into the memories Lea left me. They're things that range from warm to icy-cold and from intimate and playful to hostile as out moods played off each other. To me even the worst are suddenly worth reliving.

It's from one of these memories that I'm pulled into the present.

Rabbit stretches, front paws out in front of him and tail in the air. "Are you holding up okay, sir?"

I feel a pang of annoyance at the formal address. I miss the way Lea addresses me, familiar and affectionate. I don't reply to the wolf.

The creature is watching me from the corner of his eye, "Of course; sorry."

That's the other thing I miss; being able to complain.

I can sense the people out in the hallway. There's at least 50 of them. I've finally been forced to choose a personal, if only to get some peace, and not so many have turned up to try out. I'm assuming I can just reject all of them an go on like before.

"Sir," Rabbit says, "Are you ready to start."

No.

"In a minute," I say, eager to put off the trial.

"Sir,"

I don't respond.

"Dr. Reed told me they won't let you say no."

I feel a pang of dread. Do they want to banish Lea? They did what they did to protect her, yes, but it's like they want to make everyone forget her. When Lea was around I could bear the constant prodding. We would make fun of the people, and most of the time that was enough. When it wasn't there were conversations and time spent with her curled up against my side.

Now I can't tolerate one conversation; one simple conversation when I used to enjoy talking so much.

"Let's get this over with," I say, parroting what Lea used to say to get me to move.

"Yes, sir," Rabbit replies.

I slowly let my mind seep out into the hallway, to touch the minds of the Proxies. They're dosed with pills to undermine my influence, but they shiver anyway as they sense me. In the unfamiliar sea I'm surprised to find Mitch's presence. I assumed that after I broke his wrist he was avoiding me. I didn't mean to do it, but I was so angry that even now I feel a surge of satisfaction. I suppose I could choose him as my personal, but I won't. I can't tolerate his presence.

I turn my attention away from Mitch and squirm my mind into many eyes to look I feel the sudden discomfort from them but ignore it. Then I draw back in shock, ripping myself out of their minds.

"None of them," I say to Rabbit. My body is shaking slightly.

The wolf twitches in surprise, "Sir?!"

"No," I say.

Rabbit's tone changes, dropping to a growl, "I know how hard this must be for you, really I do, but, Undesignated, you need to start moving on."

I regain control with difficulty, unable to speak without saying what I'm thinking. He can't possibly understand this sadness. He can't know the things that I didn't know; how much she was trying to help me, that her affection gave me an identity, and how little she needed me.

Instead I just let my mind reach back into the hallway and try to find someone who hasn't put a conscious effort into mimicking Lea's appearance.

At least 30 of the people out there have died their hair black; I know. There're aren't that many people in base with hair that dark. The women have cut their hair to just below their shoulders. I wish I could blame them. They assume that Lea was my Proxy for her look; for her eyes or hips, something physical. That's what all the other Slendermen do, because it's impossible to tell who will be friendly or even tolerant based on looking at them. I was lucky the first time.

Then, through several sets of eyes at the same time, I see a flash of red. Everyone who sees it immediately turns their head to follow it.

Even though Lea isn't here, I can almost feel her jealousy towards the woman. She's a low rounder than Lea, softer-looking. Maybe I can convince myself that something Lea would have been jealous of is a step up. Perhaps then the pain will be easier to bear.

"The red-head," I say to Rabbit, "the one in the tank top and skinny jeans."

The wolf gives me a long distrustful look. "You sure?"

Eager to be free of this damned situation I say, "Yes."

"Alright," He says.

I nod, and he gets up and leaves the room, using a paw to push the door handle down.

I dive back into the memories in the precious minutes alone, letting the fading sensations calm me.

The people in the hallway are clearing out. Some of them are nervous, excited, hopeful, and some are downright scared. I wish they would all be scared. If they were afraid it would be easier to hate them.

The door clicks open again and this time the red-head enters. The sight of her pulls me pack into the present. I need to calm down. Chances are she'll barely talk to me. She'll be too scared to act.

The woman steps father into the room, flicking red hair, which I now see is dyed, over one shoulder. She puts one hand on her hip and simply stares at me through her black and white mask.

I allow my mind to reach hers, the feeling of it muted by pills and mask but clear enough to tell she is not at all affected by the mental pressure.

"Slenderman," She says, voice distorted slightly through the connection.

I dig deeper into her brain, trying to find something familiar and failing. She doesn't flinch, seeming not to notice the action.

"Name," I say, surprising myself at the clipped sound of my words.

"Natasha," The woman just looks at me, not comprehending the death that's hovering above her. She shifts, raising her chin slightly in defiance.

"Very well, Natasha," I feel my chest tighten slightly at the next words, "you're my personal."

"I got that," She shifts again, her hand leaving her hip and pushing back her hair away from her face, "big, bad, scary Slenderman wants a personal. Half the complex was out there."

I did not want this, I almost say but don't. Instead I say, "Go find me a copy of _The Adventures of Huckleberry Fin_."

She physically starts in surprise, as if the request were something irrational. She wasn't her first task to be such a thing. "Sir?"

I allow the contact on her mind to change from a passive communication to a brutal shard of mental pain; the kind that would send a normal human to the ground in agony. The woman flinches, but it doesn't seem to affect her that much.

"Sir," She says again, "you must be joking."

I don't respond.

"You don't want to read that stuff, I had to for a literature class; hated every second of it."

I huff, one of the few sounds I can physically produce. "Do as I say, Proxy."

"My name's Natasha."

"I do not care about your name. Bring me the book or go back to your life as a scout."

She bristles, chin raising, muscles tensing, "Make me."

I whip out one long limb, feeling the impact from what seems like miles away.

The woman stumbles sideways, clapping her hand to the welt on her arm. Her eyes aren't defiant anymore. She fights against my grip for a few seconds, but can't stop me from securing a strangle hold with one tentacle.

"Do as I say, Proxy, and we will have no problems."

She nods.

"Fetch," I release her neck.

The woman coughs, rubbing her throat, as if I was doing more than just restraining her. She's trembling as she reaches the door, groping blindly behind her, and leaves the room. I sense her stumble back, fall against the opposite wall.

I raise one hands and contemplate my fingers. What's wrong with me? I would never have done that to Lea, or any Proxy. I don't totally regret my actions, but I'm wondering why I performed them. The worst I did to Lea was a scolding harsh enough to make her cry a little, and even then I apologized almost immediately. Was she somehow suppressing this part of my personality?

My head is starting to echo with past screams and in response to the noise I hide within my own memories. Perhaps if I stay here long enough the violence will fade out of me.


	9. Chapter 9: Lea

**AN:** Well; thank god for spring break. All the homework is done. Another two rough drafts are added to the pile. How am I ever going to get something else written when this story gets inside my head so much. Oh well. It'll be over soon. Hopefully.

Please review, blah blah blah. I feel like a crappy youtuber asking for likes when I say that.

**Reviews:**

Superkassu: Natasha was mentioned in Hunter, in a passing remark. I'm surprised you remember it. I had the idea for this story before Hunter, so you'll see stuff in there that hints at this.

[5] Begin

September 4, 11:57 pm

9\. Lea

I wake out of a light doze with a start, the calculus book in my lap sliding off onto the bed. I snatch it back up and stare at my homework. Only two problems of it are complete. I close my eyes again, trying to regain the dream I was having.

It was a weird one. I was sitting on the floor, crying, watching blood run from the arms around my waist. There was a voice behind me, soothing despite the fact that there was a knife buried in his arm, and the slow rocking motion that calms me somewhat.

I open my eyes again and try to focus on the math problems. As before the numbers slip through my mind. I know how they should fit together, but when I try to apply the theory everything dissolves into confusion. After the two problems I'm starting to get it, but it took nearly ten minutes before my accidental nap to do those and there are nearly 40 left to complete.

With a sigh that knows I wouldn't have been able to sleep anyway, I bend back over the book, completing another problem with the aide of a worn calculator. Another inch forward in my mind. Why is this so hard? On to another problem, this one slipping through my mind as well.

Poe leaps onto the bed. He greets me with a rumbled meow, then settles between my feet, licking his paws. He blends into the navy-blue bedspread almost perfectly.

I look around the room that's mine and not mine. It's quiet, simple. Bed, nightstand, dresser, desk, lamp and bookshelf, all dark wood. The walls, in contrast, are white, unblemished. The single window looks out onto the street in front of the house. There was a picture of a girl on the nightstand beside the alarm clock. I turned it to face the wall, not wanting to intrude, and I've propped the single photograph from my bag against its reverse side. The dark fuzzy shot is indecipherable, but it makes me feel better.

Eric, Minerva explained to me, was her older brother. They were both the result of their mother's first marriage and they hardly look like siblings. Eric is attending a university in Florida, studying marine biology. He won't miss the room.

It was built especially for him, and is tucked beneath the odd half-slanting roof of the house. The only way in or out is a trapdoor and ladder leading to the upstairs landing. There's even a bathroom up here, complete with a shower.

I couldn't have picked a better place to live. I've even taken to propping the trapdoor open so Poe can come and go freely.

Two more math problems done, the block in my mind weakening.

It could be worse. I tried to write a paragraph in English and found that I am completely incapable of putting pen to paper. My mind is empty of direction for anything more than a basic sentence. I did manage to write the thing, so no harm done, but it was painful. Perhaps that block will eventually fade as well.

Maybe if I read the book it will help.

I throw a glance towards _The Adventures of Huckleberry Fin_ sitting on the nightstand. The bookmark halfway through it challenges me to sneak a peek at the final page. I haven't managed to pick up the book yet, and I doubt I will soon. I'm not sure if I'll remember what's happening or not, or if it will set off some burst of memories. I'm kind of afraid it will.

I focus back on the math. This isn't so bad. I can get through this.

There's a sound from the trapdoor, a tap of a tiny hand. I look up from the seventh calculus problem to see Janey peering in at me. I smile at her, then glance at the time. It's a few minutes after midnight.

"Hey, Janey," I say. Poe scrambles up and starts chewing on my pencil. I brush him off, "What's up?"

"I had a bad dream," The girl says, daring to open the door a tad more. She's clutching a stuffed Rabbit to herself with one hand.

"Shouldn't you talk to you mom?" I ask, this time lifting Poe by the scruff of his neck and setting him down on my other side.

"She won't wake up," Janey whispers. The terror in her voice sparks empathy somewhere in me.

"Minerva?"

"She locks her door."

I nod, "Come here and tell me about it."

She clambers through the door, her bare toes curl into the carpet a moment before she climbs next to me on the bed.

"What are you doing?" Janey asks.

I turn the paper so she can see, "Math."

Janey wrinkles her nose, "Ew."

I grin, "Your nightmare scared you pretty bad, huh?"

She nods, one hand twisting the bunny's ear.

"Tell me about it."

"There was a clown in my closet," She says, and I see her shoulders tremble a little bit, "I don't know what he wanted."

She hasn't mentioned a fear of clowns in the past. If it's something she suffers from I don't know about it. "Did he chase you?" I ask.

"No,"

"Did he do anything else?" I'm beginning to think this isn't just a regular nightmare.

"He played a song," She says, and sings a few notes. The tune brings a smile to my face.

"That's Pop Goes the Weasel."

"What's that?"

"Just a rhyme,"

"Like for babies?"

"Like for everyone."

"They sound like they're for babies."

I half-laugh, "Maybe some of them are."

Janey nods.

"It doesn't sound too bad," I say, looking back at my math problem.

"He was scary," She says, but she's not shivering anymore.

"I bet he's scared of you," I say, then add, "or at least of that ferocious rabbit."

He gives the rabbit a dubious look, "I don't think so."

"I bet he is," I insist, committed to the thing now, "I bet he's scared silly. Don't you know clowns are afraid of kids?"

"No they aren't," She says.

"Well I'm afraid of you," I say, making eye contact with Janey. She stares at me for a long time, trying to decide whether I'm lying or not. One of her hands is still twisting the rabbit's ear.

"Boo!" She shouts, and I'm so startled that I physically jump and Janey lets out a long laugh.

I laugh too after a moment, but stop as I look down and see that I've broken my pencil. It occurs to me that I'm only holding it in one hand.

"Go back to bed," I say to Janey, "The clown won't hurt you and you need sleep for school tomorrow."

"So do you."

"I'll be alright, I say, setting down the broken pencil, "go on."

The girl gets up from the bed and pulls open the trap door. I watch her head disappear before I begin digging for a new pencil.

Ten math problems later I stop, thinking. Is it normal to hear music in dreams? Is it normal to remember the song note for note? And, really, what child has a nightmare without something chasing them?

A cold stone of dread drops to the bottom of my stomach. What have I done?

I toss my math-book down onto the bed and stand, stretching to get the stiffness out of my muscles. Poe meows; I forgot about him for a while, and he's not pleased about it. I lift him onto my shoulder where he settles down.

I pull open the trapdoor and feel my fay down the stairs. I turn left and go down the hall to Janey's room.

The door is open slightly, the glow of a nightlight from within casting shadows on the walls. The girl stirs slightly as I enter.

"Lea?" She says sleepily.

"It's okay; just go back to sleep."

She rolls over.

I step to the closet. When I see the door is open I swallow hard. The shapes of clothes don't seem to be disturbed, but it's hard to tell. Is that a person or the bulge of a coat?

I start pushing through the clothing, from left to right. Poe is digging his claws into my shoulder and growling deep in his throat. I raise a hand and rub his head to quiet him.

Then my hand meets something solid, something with a slight give to it. It's much too high up to be a toy or stuffed animal, but it's not giving off any heat. The rock in my stomach combusts into shards of terror that dig into my organs. I force a shuddering breath.

And the fear evaporates into a sudden sense of calm. It feels like some part of me is overwhelming the terror I should be feeling, whispering something I can't understand and I know I shouldn't trust.

I draw my hand back from the solid thing, take a step back and raise my fingers to quiet Poe again. My foot hits something as I shuffle back from the closet, and I bend to pick it up, not completely sure why I'm doing so.

I tuck the box beneath my arm and make my way back into the hall and up the stairs into my attic bedroom.

There, with Poe still on my shoulder and purring, I turn the handle on the Jack-in-a-Box. The tinny melody of Pop Goes the Weasel makes me smile.

"Pop goes the weasel," I whisper, sing-song, and wait for the box to pop open.

Nothing happens. No scary clown on a spring, no puff of smoke, not even the sound of a broken mechanism. Some Jack-in-the-box this is.

I set the toy down in my own empty closet and firmly close the door on the thing. It's mine now.

That done, and the odd feeling of calm still radiating through me, I sit on the bed and go back to my homework. For some reason the problems seem much simpler now.


	10. Chapter 10: Lea

**AN: **I feel like crap. I said some things I shouldn't have said to my friend. Oh well. I can take another blow.

* * *

**Reviews:**

lucifer16985214: *Laughter*

SuperKassu: You're correct; I've avoided Laughing Jack thus far, but he's entered the scene now. We'll see how it goes. Languages are my thing as well. Lea's more a math type.

* * *

[5] Recreated.

September 12, 5:30 pm

10\. Lea

Rosaline bursts into my room without warning on a Friday night. Her hair is blown from the wind, face red with the rush of the stairs. The trapdoor bangs loudly against the floor and Poe bolts off my lap and under the bed. He hisses at the girl from his hiding place.

Flash on the Jack-in-the-box in my closet and apprehension spikes through me. My eyes flicker to the door of the closet, but it's closed tight.

With a yawn I close the novel. It's not _Huck Fin_—that's still sitting on top of the nightstand—I'm required to read this one for English.

Rosaline is still focused on the kitten whose eyes are gleaming in the shadows. She looks at me as my feet touch the floor.

"What's up?" I ask.

"We're gonna play a couple board games, if you want to come."

"Who's 'we?'" I ask, looking at the spread of books on the bed.

"Me, Taylor and Minerva,"

Poe growls and I reach under the bed to calm him down while I give her offer some thought. Part of me really wants to stay in this room, but I know that if I do that I'll feel lonely. I also know if I go downstairs I'll be miserably left-out, but maybe it will helps this weird heavy ache I have in my chest.

"Okay," I say standing up. The kitten scrambles onto the bed and leaps onto my back, digging claws in to grip as he climbs to my shoulder. I wince slightly but otherwise ignore him.

Rosaline stares as I step past her and onto the sloped ladde to the landing below.

Downstairs I find Minerva and Taylor, the sallow girl. My heart does a little flip-flop, as it always does when Minerva smiles at me.

Taylor grins at me, "You've got something on your shoulder."

Poe meows in an offended way and the girl blinks in surprise. I life the cat off my shoulder and he pads away into some dark corner to chase spiders.

"What are we playing?" I ask, trying to ignore the feeling of their stares.

"Nothing," Rosaline says, and steps forward to lay a crystal pendulum down on the table.

I look at the glittering object and fight back the urge to smash it into a thousand pieces.

"I have candles too," Taylor says, producing them from her backpack.

This time I don't stop myself; I reach out and snatch the candles, "No."

"What are you doing?"

I blink, "I'm not sure."

Minerva is giving me a weird look, not like I'm acting crazy, but like she's surprised I know this stuff.

"Janey's too young to play anyway," I say, nodding to the girl. She's sitting on the couch in the next room, "and then you have an issue."

"How did you know we were going to play The Midnight Game?"

"I didn't. What's the Midnight Game?"

"A summoning ritual," Minerva says, "and you're right; trying to play it is dangerous."

"Yes, but she _knew_," Taylor insists, pointing at me.

I just shrug, "Stuff comes through, weird stuff."

"Stuff like not playing the Midnight Game?"

I shrug again and put the candles down on the table.

"Can you actually remember anything?" Rosaline asks, like she knows it's rude to ask but really wants to know the answer.

"Yes," I say, "Some things. It's all random."

"Really?" She sounds intrigued now.

"I shiver under their gazes, "It's just a room, a huge room with concrete walls and ceiling, and I thing I remember someone dressed all in white, and another person on the floor behind them with-," I cut myself off, then glance around at their faces, and finish, "with their neck broken."

Rosaline grins, "Let's see if we can get something else."

"What?" I say

"Rosey," Minerva says, scowling.

Rosaline waves her off, "Don't worry, Minny, I know what I'm doing."

"I don't understand where this is going," I say, twisting the ring on my right index finger.

"It's just a bit of hypnotism; don't sweat it."

I swallow, "No thanks."

Rosaline blinks at me, "Why not?"

"Stuff comes through; weird stuff."

"Like what?"

I bite my own tongue. I'm suddenly very nervous, twitchy. I need to use the bathroom and I'm hungry, not to mention tired. Sleep is not something that comes easily to me, so if I would rather be doing that it must be bad.

Minerva comes my rescue, "Forget it Rosy. We don't know anything about where L is from."

I blink; L?

"But don't you want to know?" Rosaline asks.

Minerva hesitates, looking at me. I can tell she really does want to know. I do too, but this doesn't seem right to me. It feels wrong.

I shake my head, turning away from the three of them. I twist the ring on my finger again, feeling the slight grooves of the chain-like engraving; tiny circles crossed through with X's all the way around the band. The familiar chill is creeping up on me, making me shiver for no reason.

I move into the next room where Janey is watching TV and coloring on a piece of paper. I sit behind her; on the sofa, and close my eyes.

Taylor and Rosaline are already on to other things; boys, school, movies, dances. I listen to them for a few minutes, wondering at the pure normality of their lives; the almost stereotypical layout of their characters. I can't wait until they're out of this story.

Then Janey is poking my knee with her small warm hand. I open my eyes to look at her.

"I drew the clown," he says, holding up a piece of paper.

I clink—that incident was over a week ago—and look at the picture.

It's don't in green crayon and depicts a tall figure with an untidy mane of hair and a long pointed nose below two beady eyes. The rest of his body is a confusing mess of stripes and checkers from the start of his sleeves to the cuffs of his pants.

"That's pretty good," I say to Janey because it is, and then add, "Are you still dreaming about him?"

"He's not a dream," She says indignantly, "he lives in my closet and talks to me at night."

"Of course," I say, "my mistake." Did I accidentally stimulate her mind into creating an imaginary friend? I remember the Jack-in-a-box in my closet; I didn't create this.

She pushes the picture into my hands, "He wants you to have it."

"Thank you," I say, then add, "tell him so too."

"Okay," She chirps, and goes back to another drawing of the clown. In this one he appears to be juggling.

I get up and cross back through the kitchen area, past the girls at the table. They all glance at me and lower their voices. I climb up the stairs and then up the sloping ladder, pause before I push open the trapdoor. My fingers tap the wood and I hear the sharp click of the closet door. It's only then that I open the door.

I set down the drawing, promising myself I'll tack it up later. I reach out and pick up the journal from the nightstand. I can't read it; it's all gibberish, but just holding it makes me feel better.

I let my fingers run over the page edges as they flow past. I can see the handwriting that's not my own. It's neater, to my vague embarrassment, and the writer curves their letters at the end into little curly cues. I can't read it; it's all gibberish, but holding it makes me feel better.

I put the journal down, letting it fall open to a well-worn page. It appears to be some kind of written-out conversation between the two scripts, mine and the others. I take the novel from the pillow and bring it with me back down the stairs.

On my way past the table Minerva says, "Pizza's coming," moving a monopoly piece to the exact center of a square with the tip of one finger.

Janey gives a little cheer from the next room, and I say, "Awesome."

Rosaline is one her phone, and when Minerva plunks the dice down in front of her she looks up in surprise. She rolls, then looks up at me and offers her phone.

"Here," She says, face sour, "Neil wants to talk to you."

I take the device and feel a thrill of shame as I realize how slim and compact it is compared to mine upstairs. Not that I can unlock mine, or even remember to charge it regularly.

Rosaline's deleted most of the messages from their previous conversation. Most of them. She's left a short exchange for my benefit.

"Isn't Lea staying with Minerva?" The first received message says.

"That weird chick?" Rosaline's typed in return.

"Ya, bit odd."

"She's here. She blew off my hypnotism gig."

"Think I can come over there?"

"Hang on, let me ask Minny," On the next line, "Minny said no."

"Why not?" Winking face.

"Her sister's here. She's only five, and no one else is home besides us."

There's an apparent skip here, and the next message is received.

"Come on Rosy."

"No."

"Then can you let L use your phone?"

"Why? You got a crush on her?"

"Not a crush, per se," Winking face.

"Ya, sure, fine. I'm giving the phone to her now."

I sit down on the couch and find myself chewing on the side of my thumb as I contemplate the messages. I'm getting mixed signals.

A new message pops up on the screen.

"Hey," Winking face.

Unsure what else to do I type back, "Hey."

"This is Lea?"

"Yes."

"You haven't been in physics."

"They put me into AP Biology instead." I type, "I like it better."

"You're not an AP snob now, are you?"

"No. I'm still in regular English."

"I've noticed," Winking face. He goes on, "Where'd you get the clothes by the way?"

I shrug even though he can't see me, and type, "Somewhere Minerva dragged me."

"They're hot,"

I blink at the screen, then type, "What?"

"They make you look hot."

I type, "blame Minerva," delete it without sending, and instead type, "Are you drunk?"

"Buzzed," winking face.

It's a miracle he can type so well, I think, then remember autocorrect.

"You're still hot," He says.

Again I'm faced with uncertainty. I watch the tiny line blink without typing anything for a few seconds. Then, finally, I say, "Thanks."

"My god, I am so horny," comes the reply.

I glance up to make sure Janey is still coloring. She is, and isn't paying attention to me.

"So?" I tap out.

"So I could come by and pick you up."

I think about candles and rice and read thread looped around stuffed animals. "I'll pass," I type, "I don't want to leave Janey alone with these three."

"Please?"

"No."

"A date then. Next weekend?"

"No. I'm watching the kids while Minerva and her mom go to visit her grandma. She's in a home. Alzheimer's."

"Why aren't they taking the kids?"

"It's her father's mother."

"Right; forgot about that. Weekend after that?"

"Sure," I type, and immediately my mind starts kicking out a hundred reasons I should have said no.

"Awesome," winking face, "I'll try to keep my friends out of the way."

"Okay."

"Talk to you later?"

"Sure. English on Monday."

"Got a phone?" He asks.

"No," I type, because it's basically true.

Frowning face, "Too bad. See you Monday, sweetheart."

"Okay, Monday." I wonder why it's so hard for people to use three little letters.

"See you in my dreams."

I blink at that, hesitate a moment, then fiddle around until I figure out how to delete the entire conversation. I get up and give the phone back to Rosaline.

"What did he say?" She asks.

I shrug, "Stuff about classes, Physics, English."

"Uh-huh," She says, unconvinced. She glares at me.

I shrug and go back to the sofa and my book. Kip, the dog, comes in through the back door. He growls at me, his fur bristling. I ignore him and open the novel.


	11. Chapter 11: Slender

**AN:** Well. Last week was hell. I don't want to talk about it. Sex is mentioned in this chapter. It's not bad, so I won't put a warning here. I don't blame you if it makes you uncomfortable. It makes me uncomfortable.

* * *

**Reviews:**

lucifer16985214: ahaha…ha…ha Well. We shall see.

Superkassu: Well you're right about Lea. About Neil not so much, but more on that in a chapter or two.

* * *

[5] Recreated

September 19, 11:11 AM

11\. S

I don't acknowledge Natasha's presence when she enters the room. I've found myself getting more and more irritated around her. There isn't anything wrong I can put into words; I just can't stand being near her.

I do look up when the woman lets a box fall onto the table. I have the impression she's scowling behind the mask.

"The teams are ready to start on this room," She says stiffly.

I don't respond for a minute, thinking. I don't like Natasha, but I haven't hurt her since the day she was assigned. She's talked back, been obstinate, done everything she could think of to provoke me, and my continued passivity confuses her.

She hasn't seen the dismembered corpses or heard the screaming. I'm going through victims so fast I'm risking starvation.

"Tell them to leave this one along. Go help Wolf."

Natasha twitches, and then, to my surprise, she says, "The Hunters are going to find this place."

I stare without speaking, not feeling any emotions exactly but feeling something.

"The Organization too."

I go back to my book.

Natasha doesn't move. After a couple minutes I say, "Go help Wolf."

She heaves the box up again, and I think for a moment of offering to help. Then I remember Lea's crates of medicine and start to feel sick. No cures, only treatments; only borrowed time.

Natasha takes a step back to avoid getting smacked in the ace by the door, pulling my attention away from the inevitable future.

On the other side of the door is Mitch. He's holding a box too, but it's much smaller than Natasha's and full of paperwork. He looks at me, glances at Natasha, strides into the room and lets the box fall with a thud onto the table.

His arm doesn't appear to be permanently damages. That's good.

Mitch stretches, rolls his shoulders, and kicks the door closed. In the process he traps Natasha in the room. He looks at me and says, "Dr. Reed wants to know if you're staying here."

For a few seconds I'm not even aware of Natasha's presence. The ease of movement comes back a little and I stretch, moving my spine. "Yes," I say to Mitch. Then the moment is gone and I stop moving, realizing Natasha is staring like she's never seen me before. Mitch is looking at her sideways.

"Natasha," I say, "go."

She doesn't move.

I feel the sharp edge of frustration, but I don't snap at her.

Mitch speaks again, signaling for me to ignore the personal's presence. "That's what I figured." He steps to the box, flicking through it.

There's a few seconds of silence before Mitch says, "They blocked almost a quarter of out members, killed another quarter. We're down to half out size right there. Another quarter is spread all over the country, keeping track of the blockies so we don't lose any." Here he pauses, "that's where I was supposed to be, before things went wrong. That leaves 25% of the population here, packing everything up and driving it up to the new site."

"So what happened?" I ask. Mitch knows I don't care about the statistics, or how many people died.

He takes a breath, "Whoever blocked her blocked the doctor too, and we lost track of where she was."

I take a second to process that. Not a human; a Slenderman. It was just routine, planned, safety nets everything. The Proxies did not intend to screw things up.

"They should have told me," I say, feeling very tired again. I want to sleep so badly.

"They shouldn't have blocked her at all," Mitch snarls. He sounds like he's been bottling up the frustration for a long time.

I don't respond. My throat feels weird, tight. I don't want to expose myself like this, certainly not in front of Natasha.

Mitch lets his head fall forward, "Of course. My apologies, Undesignated."

That gets my attention again. It's nowhere near Lea's name for me, but it's quite a bit closer than, "sir." I look down at the book, then up at Mitch a moment later. It takes a huge effort to for me to say, "Sorry about your arm."

He flexes his wrist, "No harm done. I guess I know where you're coming from."

Natasha nearly drops her box in surprise, ends up fumbling with it clumsily. Mitch turns to her, frowning under the mask. I see him bristle.

"Natasha," I say again, "go help Wolf."

This time she listens, She does that funny thing where humans throw their weight upward to get a better grip on the box and starts towards the door.

"You hate Wolf," Mitch says, confused. Natasha stops moving.

I make it clear to Mitch that he's done something I don't like. He shivers under the sudden mental pressure.

"Of course," He says, turning to Natasha, "You'd better go."

As soon as the door closes I shut the book, resisting the desire to rub fingers over my own skin.

"Thanks for telling me she was blocked." I say to Mitch, suddenly aware of the necklace, heavy against my skin.

He nods slightly, pauses as a thought occurs to him, "You thought she ran away?"

I can't respond to that. I don't want to be here. I'm just tired. I'll take a nap soon, an actual one, maybe at Lea's apartment. I miss being there.

"You did," Mitch says. He takes a deep breath, "Undesignated?"

"Yes?"

"Can't you tell where she is?"

"No," I let one thumb run over the page edges, streaming past in a smooth wave.

"But your connection—,"

"Broken," Beyond repair, maybe. Then I say, because Mitch's shoulders have slumped, "I know she's alive."

"That's something," He says, relief apparent in his voice.

He shuffles awkwardly, clearing his throat. I wait expectantly for him to speak.

"You know she wouldn't have left," Mitch states.

"I'm not sure what I know," I say.

Mitch just sighs, admitting defeat.

I ruffle the pages of the book again.

"Good book?" Mitch asks.

"Not really. It was one of Lea's favorites when she was younger."

He goes quiet, as if sad, then heaves the box into his arms again. Maybe actually hearing name has driven home the situation. If it has it doesn't stop him saying, "We'll find her; don't worry," Before he leaves the room.

I have the impression that "we" does not include me.

At least I know she didn't run away. Believing that she had on and off for months, was ripping me apart. I know now that she didn't try to leave, and that's something.

"Thank you," I say to no one, letting the words bounce back off the walls of my mind.

Natasha kicks the door open, stalks to the table, and slams the cardboard box down on it.

"Wolf says to fuck off," she says loudly, kicks the door closed again with a bang and the unmistakable sound of splintering wood. The woman winces and glances towards the door, leaving me out of her gaze for a moment.

I flicker to one of the back corners of the room in that instant, leaving the book behind.

Natasha jumps when she spots me, and I feel a savage rush of joy at the fear. Let her be afraid, let them all be afraid; they took Lea from me.

I feel anger bubble up, hot and powerful

Natasha squints at me, "You get that? He's pretty pissed."

I don't reply, focusing on not killing her. Then I'll have to choose again.

"Why did you send me to someone who hates you?" Natasha asks.

"Try Junior," I say, "he likes everyone."

He humphs, pulls out a chair and sits down, pressing one foot into the table so it's up on two legs. She starts examining one set of perfectly-cut scarlet fingernails. She seems to do a lot of this. It bothers me. I don't know why.

I have a sudden flash of other hands, nails bitten short. Lea's? Jeff's?

Ordinarily right now I would leave the room. Right now I feel like getting into a fight.

"Go help move," I order Natasha.

"I'll pass. If anyone asks I'll say you had me run an errand."

I haven't had her do anything like that since the first day when she found me the book. I'm suddenly unsure of how to reply.

Natasha carries on, "I could tell them you wanted to have sex. That usually shuts people up."

I feel a bolt of fearful rage, "Who did you tell that to?"

"No one," She says, but I sense the flick of her eyes that gives away the lie.

Instead of speaking I allow my anger to physically manifest, growing larger, static crackling in the air. I feel two tentacles squirm into the air.

Natasha's eyeing me nervously, "Okay; I told my friend that. She's one of the prostitutes in this place and she said you'd never hired one of them and asked why, so I told her that it was because you got me to do it."

The anger is starting to turn into second-hand frustrated shame now. Then it comes back as I hear here next words.

"She said it was a little off because she could have sworn your last personal was a virgin, so I said it was probably a lie—,"

I whip one tentacle towards her, encircling her neck, barely stopping myself from squeezing the life out of her.

Natasha stops speaking abruptly.

I'm shaking with rage now, but know hurting Natasha is only going to worsen the situation. I loosen my hold with great difficulty.

"You're going to find your friend and tell her it was a lie," I growl, "then you're going to ask if she told anyone else and if she did you're going to make a report, publicly, that you lied."

She swells a little with indignation.

I tighten my grip on her neck, "I do not have any sexual desires, Proxy, because the person who changed me did not. That you have even hinted I did shames us both, remember that." I release her.

Natasha raises a hand to her neck, "didn't hurt," She says to herself.

I'm still seething, "And my last personal was a virgin," And with that I'm gone.


	12. Chapter 12: Lea

**AN:** I have so much stuff to do, and yet I take time out to write this for you guys. The things I do for you. No promises on a chapter next week. Backstage takes up my writing time. Next time I update it will be a double-feature though. Two chapters in one day.

* * *

**Reviews: (So many! ****)**

**BlueHelixx**: Natasha is supposed to make you mad. It means I'm doing this right, so thank you for telling me.

**xxJadeyCakesxx**: EJ isn't going to be a large part of this story for several chapters, but he's in here somewhere. Have no fear.

**Rose(Guest) On Hunter**: I hope you're reading this. I love Sweet Dreams (Are made of these), but I listen to the Marilyn Manson version. I am sad to say that I don't have a facebook or any other social media. The people who control me will not allow it.

**Superkassu:** Well… Slender isn't fond of Mitch, but he makes an effort. I wouldn't say that Lea being gone improved anything.

**JTLETSGETIT: **Thank you for the compliment! I would have killed Natasha too, if it was me.

* * *

[6] Candy

Sept. 20, 9:00 pm

Chapter 12: Lea

I'm sitting at the table downstairs, frowning at the screen of the cellphone. I realized I could listen to the music on it without knowing the password. The second I turned the device on a wave of texts and missed calls rushed in. Most of the calls are from "Mom." That's what's bothering me. I didn't consider before not that I must have a family somewhere. It's a pretty big shock. I've been stupid not to consider it.

I'm overcome with a wave of directionless homesickness. I blink back tears that don't seem to be connecting to my mother.

The rest of the notifications are a confusing jumble of names. Some are clearly friends from a long time ago, people I haven't contacted in a long time. Then there's a contact called "Base," which appears to spew instructions and another labelled, "Eagle" who seems frantic.

Who are they? A friend, a boyfriend, a girlfriend? Maybe my stepfather? The possibilities are almost endless. For that matter; who am I?

The notifications finally stop and I push the headphones into my ears and press the blank "play" button. Two seconds tick by and then a song that makes my entire body shiver and blood run cold plays. It sounds like it's playing in reverse. I remove the headphones.

A new notification arrives from "base." I can't read all of it, but I see "all members are—." I flip the phone over, my chest tight.

I glance up and see three faces looking at me from the doorway to the sitting room. Janey and her brothers, distracted from the TV. The boys are grinning at me.

I look down at the textbook open in front of me, then back up at the kids and say, "What's up?"

Janey looks extremely guilty, but the twins just smile wider and—

_Scars carved into white skin, ropey and raised in an ear-to-ear grin. Lips pulled back from canine teeth, appearing human, thick fur becoming patchy—_

"Lea?" Janey says, and I blink as I see all three of them are right in front of me. The boys' smiles have faded slightly.

"I'm okay," I say, shaking the things out of my head.

I look at them again and see all three children are sucking on something. In their hands are brightly-colored plastic wrappers. One of Janey's small fists is closed around a wad of them.

"Where did you get candy?" I ask, thinking that their mother is going to kill me.

"Laughing-Jack," Janey says, and somehow I understand she means the clown from her nightmare. For some reason that makes me feel better about it.

I look at the boys. They're both seven and outgrowing their fairytale stage, "You too?"

They both nod.

Daniel, who I've come to recognize because his hair has slightly more volume, says, "He told us to give you this," and holds out a red wrapper, the hard ball of the candy still inside it.

Adrian and Janey both lean away, as if he were holding a spider in his palm.

I take the candy and turn it in my fingers. The wrapper is still on tight, crinkling slightly in my hand. I look at the kids. All three of them are watching me. Daniel pops a purple candy into his mouth.

I unwrap the candy. It's bright red, as most candies are. It feels hard and solid, but I roll it in between my palms, making sure one of the twins hasn't licked it. Finding it saliva free, I glance once more at the kids and see the expectant looks on their faces. I pop the candy into my mouth.

All three of them step away from me, and I start to ask why, but just then I get my first taste of the candy and complete bliss sweeps over me. I can't place the flavor, but I know it's the best thing I've ever tasted.

I close my eyes and let out an "mmm" of pleasure, letting the taste take over for a moment. I feel my body relax; it's like a drug.

I blink open my eyes, smiling dreamily, and look down at the kids. They're staring back like I'm insane.

"What?" I ask, tucking the candy into my cheek.

Instead of replying Adrian, the quieter of the twins, removes another red candy from his pocket and squeezes it out of the wrapper. He gives it an experimental lick and gags violently.

I snatch the candy from his hand as the boy fights back vomit. He succeeds.

"Okay," I say, checking the time on the cellphone, "You were supposed to be in be ten minutes ago."

Janey and Daniel groan. Adrian is still recovering. I see Janey start to pop another candy into her mouth and hold out my hand.

"Give it here,"

She hands over the brightly-covered candy, giving me a murderous look.

"All of it."

They produce three to five candies in every color from deep purple to lime green each from various pockets. I collect them all in the palm of my hand, promising myself I'll try one after they're all safely in bed.

"Now pajamas, all of you. Your mom will kill me if she finds you awake."

They all jump into motion. The thought of their mother tired and angry in a blood-covered nurse's uniform scares them more effectively than any image I can conjure, and that's saying something.

I close my eyes, sucking on the candy in my mouth. I'm not hungry. In fact I feel full. That's something I haven't felt in months.

The clothes that Kaylee bought me are already a little too small. Is it normal to have a growth spurt at 17?

I get up after a couple of minutes to check on the kids.

The twins are already in bed, Adrian in the top bunk. They pretend to be disgusted when I enter the room, even though they're both fully clothed under the blankets.

I confiscate three more candies, one of them red.

Janey is taking her time getting ready for bed. She's still in the bathroom when I walk to the hall. I head back downstairs while I wait and have to shoo Kip, the dog, away from the candies.

He leapt up onto the table and is sniffing at them. I scoop him up, setting off a growling, snarling fit of noise, and have to concentrate very hard not to throw the animal as hard as I can against a wall. I set Kip down gently, only kicking him lightly when he whirls on me with his teeth bared.

I swallow the last of the red candy in my mouth, and longing for the peculiar flavor immediately begins. I survey my options on the table. I pocket the two red candies, the third Adrian licked and so goes in the trash, and I'm just choosing a purple-wrapped treat when the house phone rings.

I pick it up, the candy still in my left hand, and say, "Hello?" thinking it's Kaylee, asking about the kids.

The voice that answers me is definitely not Mrs. Higgins, "Hey, Lea."

"Hello," I say again, wait for them to speak.

"It's Neil."

I roll my eyes; that explains everything and say, "Hello," again.

"Sorry to bug you. You're babysitting tonight, right?"

"Yes,"

I hear the distinct sound of a cough from the other end, faint. Then Neil is back on, "Awesome. Could you do something for me?"

I frown, thinking about it. I must let the silence hang too long because he says, "Lea?"

He's calling me by my name. That sets off alarm bells in my head, but I say, "Sure."

"Right; I've got some friends here who are calling me a liar for saying we've got a date. You want to set them straight?"

Not the date thing again, for about the 30th time this week. Enough already. But, for the 30th time, I find there's something in me that can't say no. Trying to place the reason brings the old ache of longing back to my chest.

"Yes," I say, "next Saturday at five, right?"

"That's the one," Neil says over the sudden clamor of laughter and whistling in the background. I feel my stomach drop; they think I'm going to—

Janey is looking at me from the top of the stairs. She looks concerned.

"Hey Janey, ready for bed?" I say, not bothering to remove the phone from my ear.

"Yes,"

"I'll be up in a little bit."

She nods like there's something bothering her but turns back into the hallway.

Into the phone I say, "Give it a rest, okay?"

"What?"

"You got what you wanted. You don't have to ask seven times a day if we're still going." I'm feeling touchy. It's a bizarre contrast to my usual lack of emotion.

"But I _like_ asking," Neil insists.

I don't reply for a moment. Poe appears from nowhere and purrs around my ankles.

"I've got to go," I say, "see you Monday."

"Ya, see ya, sweetie,"

I hang up, wondering why it makes me feel so weird to be called pet-names.

I head upstairs, but Janey is already asleep. She has her bedside lamp on, so I shut that off.

I pop the purple candy into my mouth, but it's just a candy, almost too sweet.

Back to normal.

Until go up into my room, thinking to grab something to read. Sitting on my bed, in the center of the pillow like a hotel courtesy mint, is a small pile of the red candies.

I hear the closet door slide shut behind me.


	13. Chapter 13: Slender

**AN:** I promised two chapters. I will not keep this promise. Why? Homework. Lots and lots of homework. This one is short (Really short). Have fun!

* * *

**Reviews:**

**SuperKassu:** Thank you for the compliment, but I must inform you that, because most clowns are not human, and are in fact otherworldly creatures from another plane of existence, they are probably capable of hiding in your closet.

**JTLETSGETIT:** Answered via private message. That thing about people controlling me wasn't a joke. I need help. Please…help…

* * *

[6] Candy

September 21, time unknown

13\. Slender

It's the woman I want, I know. She's the one that's painful to look at, the tome that makes me unable to think, but I need the energy from the whole family. If I don't keep up my intake I might starve. I don't know if that would kill me or not.

The house is isolated in the middle of a forest and small. It seems sufficient for the woman, her husband, their son, and a man who must be her father.

As far as I can tell they're happy.

I ask myself yet again why I feel the urge to kill such people, but it's in my nature. I can't fight that.

I need the energy; I need to stay alive. What I'm living for I don't exactly know anymore.

I'm almost finished with the boy now, the most important because he has so much extra energy. It's taking a long time to make the connection, longer than I would have liked.

I remove the tentacle around his wrist with a flick, having resorted to physical contact to gain the proper knowledge. I glance around the bedroom, consider rearranging, but don't.

I don't like messing with groups of humans. If you give them something to work with they'll be at you with shotguns in three seconds flat. Bullets don't kill me, but they hurt.

The door swings open and I flicker out of existence. I know the man saw me, but he dismisses the huge black shape with a shake of his head. He lets the door close on the sleeping boy.

But, of course, it was the woman that was the main goal, and thus it is her who's suffering the worst.

She hasn't been eating or sleeping, bother very typical, and the nosebleeds are starting to set in.

I watch her husband give her a steaming mug of tea, kiss the top of her head. He murmurs something in her ear.

I feel a sharp pang of envy as she smiles back. It's a look similar to the ones Lea sometimes gave me. I can't blame her for that, but the loss of the thing cuts me deeply.

I focus, flexing my mind. A gush of blood pours down the woman's face. She doubles over, overcome with nausea. Her husband wraps arms around her as she chokes, trying to help. I turn away.

I should look for Lea now, again. She's out there somewhere; I know she is. I can sense her beating heart.

I choose a spot not far from the cabin. From here I can see the wood pile beside the back door, a gleaming hatchet next to it.

I begin sorting through the smattering of nearby houses, then a nearby town. When that comes u[ blank it's onto the next and the next, the task lasting nearly five hours before I hit a major population center, trailing on and on through time that feels like forever but I know is the blink of an eye.

Then I hit a city of at least a hundred thousand people and can't scan it from this distance. I take a single breath and—

The door to the cabin opens. That immediately catches my attention and I watch the old man shamble out. He's the only one I didn't bond with; the only one who won't feel my affects in the next two weeks. I watch him stretch, hands on his lower back. He says something I can't hear.

I asked Lea once if I seemed old. She said no. I believe her; Lea doesn't lie to me. She can't, just like I can't lie to her. If we tried out minds would give it away, or would have given it away, I don't know if I'll ever be that close to her again.

The old man lights a cigarette and glances towards me. I fade back into the shadows. He finishes his smoke and goes back inside. He taps twice on his chest, like he's making a promise. I wish I could hear what he was thinking.

I feel the necklace, sitting heavy against my flesh. I let one hand find the chain and pull out the pendant. I rub it between my fingers very gently. I'm afraid I'll shatter the gemstone.

I miss her, and every part of being near her, even arguing; an unpleasant experience.

I shake my head, trying to relax my tight throat. I can't think about that or I'll drive myself insane.

I realize I lost my place. The city has slipped from my mind. A single low moan echoes in my mind; one in seven billion and I've barely made a start.

I need to stop thinking about this; it's only going to hurt me more. I need to kill something. Not this family, but someone else. Someone I can listen to screaming.

I cast one glance back at the cabin in the woods and catch one glimpse of the woman and her husband, mouths locked.

I disappear.


	14. Chapter 14: Lea

**AN:** Back in the groove! I feel good. Finally get my weekends back, so new chapters regularly, without staying up until 3 AM.

I realize some of you are getting tired of Slender moping around. At least I imagine you are. I am. He doesn't stay that way for too much longer. Well, he does, but he quits being a baby about it.

* * *

**Reviews:**

**Superkassu: **I work hard to get the emotions right in this fic, but there's a reason I'm good at sadness.

* * *

[7] Unwinding

September 27, 10:00 pm

14\. Lea

To the long list of things I didn't know about myself I add that I'm not fond of cars. Or, at least, I'm not fond of cars driven by distracted seventeen year old boys who clearly don't have a license.

I reach across and tug us back into the lane, thinking as I do so that I could do better than this.

"Thanks," Neil says, not looking the least bit startled.

"Just watch where we're going," I say. I'm beginning to wonder if my clothing is distracting him; Minerva spontaneously descended upon me roughly an hour before and a half before we left. She made me wear the most ridiculous tank-top; the scar on my right arm feels exposed, not to mention how low the neck is, but at least I'm wearing jeans.

Neil glances my way again and I point forwards, eyebrows raised. He grins and his eyes linger a moment longer than necessary as he faces front again.

I feel a shiver go up my back. Is that a flicker of guilt I feel? I flash on the three candies in my pocket. Down by two already and I'm craving another one. I'm certain there're no drugs in them, but I can't deny I'm hooked.

The fear of the presence has gone. It's been gone for three days. I feel the danger has passed somehow. There's also a change in my own attitude; it feels like I'm used to this whatever-it-is. I'm sleeping a lot better.

I feel the car pulling right and look up. We're getting off of the highway. I'm not sure where we are, but being surrounded by lights and people is letting me breathe easier.

"I think I came from a city," I say aloud.

Neil starts to look at me again, but seems to decide that the road is more important.

"So you remember some things?" He says almost nervously.

I shrug, "Sort of. I have dreams sometimes."

"What about?"

"People mostly. I can never see them clearly."

He makes it clear why he's nervous the next moment by asking, "No boyfriend?" and then biting his tongue.

I think about rough hands in my hair and sitting on a bloodstained floor, leaning back against something solid.

"No," I say.

He nods, and as we slow to a stop at a traffic light he reaches out and places a hand on my thigh. I shiver under the touch and brush him off. Neil give me a sideways look, as if he's trying to judge my resistance.

I reach into my pocket for another candy, feeling a tad mischievous.

"You think someone out there is going to show up and slug you?" I ask.

Neil glances at me, surprised at my words. It makes me go quiet, a hot burning on my cheeks. I slide my fingers back out of my pocket.

"It's not impossible," I say to myself, too quiet for him to hear.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

Again he reaches over, and again I brush him away. I stare out the window. He seems to get the message.

_I'm sitting in a very different car, staring out a tinted window. Beside me I feel someone shifting around._

_ "Back off," a voice from the front seat growls, but the other person doesn't move and I let my eyes flick towards them—_

"We're here," Neil says.

I blink, swallow hard against nausea and an urge to cry. I feel my right hand flex, reaching for freezing cold fingers.

I have one foot on the ground, leaning out of the pickup, before I really look at where we are. It's a house, and even from here I can tell its bursting with people.

I'm suddenly very scared to walk into that house, more scared than I was about the thing in my closet, more scared than about Janey's not-so-imaginary friend.

"Here?" I say.

Neil, who has walked around the truck to me frowns, "Ya."

I look down at myself, at the shirt that feels all too tight and the thin strip of white skin exposed on my side. I think about the candies in my pocket and the 80$ cash in my backpack at the house. I twist the ring on my right index finger and get the rest of the way out of the car.

Neil grins and takes my hand, though I didn't offer it. I get a flash of interlocked fingers, burning hot. I twitch.

Neil pulls me up to the door and throws it open. A wave of heat and sound comes rushing out. I really don't want to go in there, but I'm through the door, Neil pulling me forward and bodies crushing around me from all sides.

I'm shaking uncontrollably. I feel cold, so cold that my teeth are starting to chatter.

"Let's go," I say to Neil, pulling back on his hand, "let's leave now."

He looks at me, brown eyes glittering, and I feel like I'm looking into another pair of eyes, dark and gleaming with crazed malice.

I swallow; my head is starting to pound. I can feel something straining inside m head, about to break into my consciousness, and I really don't want it here.

Maybe that's why, when Neil drags me closed to him, I don't stop him from kissing me. It's not a gentle thing, not emotional. It feels like just a movement, like an action, no meaning behind it, and I hate it. I focus on that contact, forcing myself not to kick out even though disgust is twisting inside me like a snake. The taste and the press of his mouth don't help the force inside my head any. I feel like I might throw up.

Someone pushes up to us, shoving bottles of beer into our hands.

I step back and turn away from Neil, raising the bottle to my mouth. The flavor makes me squint, but it shocks me back into the present, into the voices and the loud bass of the music. I look at the bottle in my hand, let out a long breath, and try not to gag.

Neil is talking to the guy who gave us the beer, shouting to make himself heard over the music. His hand is still around my waist from the kiss, and his fingers interlocked with my left hand. It's making it hard to function.

He tugs my hand and says, "This is Lea. Everyone just calls her L."

I look up at the man, smiling a little, and bob into a half-bow. He's Latino, thin nose, dark eyes, hair grown into an afro and pulled back in a headband.

"L," He says, voice accented. I feel his eyes track down my body and back up again, lingering on my too-tight shirt. He smiles big and wide, sending a shiver up my back. "I'm José," He offers a huge hand.

I shake it, say, "Hello." I let my eyes coast over him again, just to make sure.

Neil tightens his grip on my hand, pulling me closer to him. "We're going to go find some friends," He says, already leading me away. I wave at José over my shoulder and in return he grins, looking oddly troubled.

"What was that?" Neil hisses at me.

"What was what?"

"That look you gave him,"

I shrug, swirling the beer in its bottle, "I wanted a good look at him."

"Ya, and wanted in his pants."

"No," I say.

"Sure," He doesn't sound convinced, even a little mad, "I'm going to find food. Hungry?"

"Yes," I say, trying not to sound too eager.

"Alright, stay here," he lets go of my hand, stepping away.

I switch the beer to my left hand and choose a spot against the wall. A couple guys look at me with curiosity, a couple girls give me frank, lustful glances. My right hand convulses, reaching for something. I take another drink, enjoying the bubbly feeling of the beer.

I imagine taking one of them, pulling them upstairs, letting their fingers slide through my hair. As they go to push me down, right then, twisting, stabbing with the knife hidden behind my back, listening to the screams inaudible above the music downstairs as the knife slowly opens them up.

Taylor falls back against the wall next to me. Mike, the mousy boy, presses his mouth to hers for a moment before walking away. Taylor looks around and blinks at me in confusion. I look at her, my min now fixated on the idea of her blood on my hands, and how good it would eel to just make her stop breathing.

"Hey," She says.

"Hello," I reply, shaking the fantasies off, "You and Mike are a couple?"

She shrugs, "On and off. I didn't expect to see you here."

"I didn't expect to be here."

"Did you come with someone?"

I nod, "Neil."

Taylor seems to pause a second, "Rosaline's friend Neil?"

I shrug, "I wouldn't know," I stop myself from taking another drink. I want to stay sober.

"Ya, well," She glances around quickly, "if it is him Rosy's gonna be pissed. She's got a thing for him."

I snort, my right hand, my right hand closes around air.

"She can be pretty harsh, I'm giving you fair warning."

"I can handle it."

"Ya, definitely," She gives me a once-over, up and down, "what happened to you?"

"Minerva," I say, looking down at myself.

"She knows her stuff. I couldn't look like that."

"I'll tell her to attack you next time." I reach into my pocket and pop one of the candies into my mouth. The flavor overrides the beer and takes away all longing to be somewhere else.

"I doubt there'll be a 'next time,'" Taylor says, eyeing Mike. He's flirting with a redhead.

"Boys are stupid," I say dismissively, "and there are so damn many of them."

"I hear you," She says, but she doesn't sound convinced.

Neil appears from the crowd again. He gives Taylor a surprise look and says, "Hey."

"Hey," She replies, gives me a pointed glance, and wanders off.

I notice Neil's lost his bottle of beer somewhere along the way.

"Bad news," He tells me, "there's no food here.

I raise my eyebrows. He's lying, but I don't say anything.

"We could go somewhere else," He says, "then hit a theater."

I nod, aware that as much as I dislike the noise and the people here I don't want to be alone with Neil either.

"One second," I say, and head off into the crowd after Taylor. I find her leaning against another wall, still watching Mike.

"Hey," I say, my voice low.

"Ya?" This time it sounds like a question.

"Come with Neil and I. We're going to get dinner."

She hesitates, eyes flicking behind me to where I assume Neil is standing.

"Please," I say, "I need someone else to be there."

The understanding darns in her eyes then, and she says, "Sure; I'm coming." She sets down her own bottle of beer on a nearby table, and steps up next to me.

I turn around and walk back to Neil. "Taylor is coming with us," I say.

For a second he looks confused, then the confusion fades into a slow kind of anger that makes my blood run cold, but thank god for Taylor because I know he won't do anything whole she's around.

I feel my right hand flex again and I catch it with my left, twisting the ring on my index fingers.

Neil nods, grabbing my left hand a bit too tightly and dragging me towards the door. I make eye contact with a very nervous Taylor and smile reasurringly, thinking about the feeling of pressing a knife against her throat.


	15. Chapter 15: Slender

**AN:** *Throws notebook at wall* ALL THE CHAPTER NUMBERS ARE ONE OFF.

* * *

**Reviews:**

**JTLETSGETIT**: If you don't like him I'm doing my job right. I hope he dies too. Eventually.

**Superkassu:** She is afraid of Neil, you're right, but maybe "wanting" is the wrong word. You'd be surprised what Slender would do in this situation. Everyone seems to think he's a lot more irrational than he is.

* * *

[7] Unwinding.

September 28, 2:00 AM

15\. Slender

**(Warning: Sex/suicide)**

The sound of laughter is what registers first. It hits like a brick, and for I second I think I know the voice.

The inside of a car, a crushingly small space. My view is angles downward slightly so I can see what's here. It's two people, limbs tangled together. The boy is on top, crouching over the girl in an almost predatory way. His blonde hair is falling forwards, hiding his face from view. The girl doesn't seem to be quite so enthusiastic, though she's not fighting back.

I'm about to dismiss the scene as something I've witnessed a thousand times when the boy slides one hand under the girl's shirt, exposing a ragged scar on her left side. I feel my heart lurch, even though I know this is a dream.

Lea slaps his hand down. She says something I can't hear, something the replies to by biting her neck hard enough to leave teeth marks. He lets his head sink down a little, just enough so I can see her face. Pleasure and uncertainty are there in equal measure.

I'm starting to feel sick. I don't want to watch this. I don't want to watch Lea go through this, even if it is some twisted joke of my own psych.

Again she slaps his hand down, harder this time, and the boy stops what he's doing long enough to ask her something.

I watch—because I don't have a choice—Lea's face break and all resistance go out of her. Her right hand flexes, fingers twisting into the boy's shirt. This time his fingers don't get slapped away.

I can't watch anymore, not in this state. I rip my gaze away, forcing my mind elsewhere.

The view settles again, this time on Lea in a chair. She's talking to someone I can't see.

"I let them do it," She says, shrugging her shoulders slightly, "I just wanted out, and it seemed like the only way to do it. I was tired of everything. Undesignated was, I don't know, clingy?"

I feel something inside me crack, even as the scene is gone. I'm dreaming; I know I am, but it still hurts.

This time it's the regular beep of a heartbeat monitor that alerts me. Lea again, this time hooked up to tubes and wires. She skin on her right arm is crisscrossed with scars and freshly dried lines of blood.

An undefinable male voice says, "Attempted suicide via drug overdose. Put her straight into a coma. Whether she'll recover or not I don't know."

"I wish we'd known," Someone says, hollowly.

I wake up slowly despite my heart thudding hard in my chest. When I finally do make it into full consciousness I let out a low moan. It's the kind of noise that, if Lea had been present, would have brought her to my side immediately. Or maybe not. How do I know for sure?

What was that dream? The first bit was normal enough, things that seem to drift out of the minds around me and get caught in my own thoughts. That last part though. That was far from normal, and it seemed so real.

I try not to dwell on the dream Lea saying she had been tired of my company. That was the worst part of the whole ordeal, listening to her say that. Compared to that everything else is barely an annoyance, including watching her kiss that boy.

Thank goodness it was just a dream.

I flicker over to the closet, thinking that maybe I can find something to calm me. I dig through the contents for a few seconds, pushing past clothing an picture books, until I find what I want; a stuffed bear. It's worn ragged from nights spent in tiny hands and days been carried.

Before I was here this is what kept her company. Maybe it will help me now. I very carefully open a torn seam, checking that what's inside the bear is stuffing and nothing else. Satisfied by my findings, I run one hand over the bear's fur. Something? Some kind of consolation? Maybe; I can't tell.

I'm suddenly struck by the idea that Lea was a child once. She wasn't always my Lea. It's the same way I felt when I first heard the killer's story recounted by Jack. The realization of a childhood…did I ever have one? I don't know. If what the Proxies say is true I did, at one point, but I don't remember it now.

I'm keeping the bear, I decide. If, when, Lea wants it back I'll give it to her. I won't need it then.

I wrap one tentacle around the bear, just tight enough to be aware of the object.

I sit back down on the bed and wonder if it's worth it to sleep again and risk another dream like that one.

No; it's not. I won't sleep again until I have Lea here again or I can be sure I won't wake up. I will not sleep.

* * *

**AN:** Short chapters because I'm short on time. Maybe no update next week; I'm going to a thing. We'll see.


	16. Chapter 16: Lea

**AN: **Well I had a near-death experience yesterday. Driving is fun.

* * *

**Reviews:**

**JTLETSGETIT: **That would be a bad situation, wouldn't it?

**Guest:** oops. Sorry to confuse you like that. I always have to be careful when I'm writing dream sequences like that.

* * *

[8] Clock

October 18, 9:00 AM

16\. Lea

I'm the only employee at the bookstore. The main reason begin that there aren't enough people who actually read in town to make more than one minimum wage worker possible. The second and less important reason is that the owner is an older man who doesn't take kindly to any kind of frivolous behavior. I guess I came off as quiet but friendly which is interesting because throughout the conversation I was imagining him nailed to a wall with his guts hanging out.

But I got the job, so I don't feel like I'm collecting welfare or something. Maybe I can start paying for my own extra food, taking more than one helping makes me feel guilty.

Also, because I'm the only worker, I can do whatever I want to the space behind the counter. So far that means hauling all my textbooks back here so I can do my homework between customers.

With all the torturous math and English done for the day, I've started going through the store, scanning the spines of self-help books and nonfiction texts on local history. I reach into my pocket for one of the candies. The familiar flavor washes over me, and I take a long, slow breath.

I have to forget the constant attention, the almost-hatred. It's not my fault I'm good at biology. It's not my fault my English teacher is a grade A bitch, but it feels like my fault. Just like it feels like my fault that Neil was so mad about Taylor coming with us. That's still haunting me, even though it's been weeks.

He won't leave me alone. He's even figured out which routes I take between classes so he can catch me in the hallways. Kaylee is getting sick of him calling the house.

Right on cue the phone rings. I step back to the counter and answer it with a calm "Hello."

"Lea?" The person on the other end says, undoubtedly Neil.

"Hey,"

"What happened in English today."

I close my eyes, feeling my cheeks burn red with shame. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Ya; don't want to talk about storming out in the middle of class."

And going to calm down in the bathroom so I don't kill someone. "I hate her."

"She's not that bad."

Of course you think that. You're an idiot. _An idiot that you're dating_, some part of me says. I bite my tongue, "Look; I'm working, so don't call me here. My manager will skin me." or maybe I'll skin him.

"Okay, babe. I'll call you tonight."

I make an indifferent noise in the back of my throat, still not sure how to respond.

"Love you."

I hang up. Guilt is spiking through me again; I don't know why.

I tap my pencil on the counter, thinking.

Thank god for Taylor. She's not as bad of a friend as I thought she'd be. In fact she's pretty okay. I saw the pale scars on her arms yesterday. She didn't realize that her sleeves were hiked up so far. I didn't say anything. I figured I wasn't in a good position to mention it, not considering what does on in my own head.

I reach down for another candy, but my pocket it empty. Instead my hand goes to the scar on my forearm.

The door of the shop opens with a cheery bell sound. Taylor walks in. I flash her a quick smile, which she returns. She heads off into the fiction section.

The bell chimes again, this time for a group of three people, two guys and one girl. They all look tired and ruffled and go straight to the guidebooks.

"It was your job to navigate," I hear the woman hiss to one of the men.

"Shut up," He says, eyes flicking over me and around the store.

Taylor walks up to the counter, sleeves of her sweater pulled all the way to her wrists, and plops down a book.

"Hey," I say, smile just a little.

"Hello," She replies, digging in her back pocket for cash.

I scan the book. _The Final Descent_ by Rick Yancey pops up. "Good series?" I ask.

She sighs, "It's going to destroy me at the end."

"One of those,"

"The first one is back there if you want to read it."

"I'll give it a try," I say, interpreting the statement as a request, not an offer.

"'scuse me," One of the men with the group says, "Do you girls know the best way to get across Nevada?"

I don't reply, because I have no idea.

Taylor says, "Just stay on 80. It'll take you all the way to ew York if you want it to."

The three of them exchange a long look.

"Perfect," The guy says, "thanks."

Taylor just nods.

I'm getting a home-sicky ache in my chest. Something about these three is setting it off.

Taylor steps away from the counter, book in hand., as the man moves forward with a guidebook and a map.

"So where are you heading?" I ask him as I start scanning.

"Atlanta," He says, and his friend smacks him sharply on the back of the head.

"All the way out there," I say hollowly. My fingers are shaking slightly as I return his purchases to him.

He gives me a add look. "Yes," He turns and leaves. The other two follow close behind.

"Didn't we lose one up here?" I hear him say to his friends.

"Don't let your imagination run away," The woman snaps, "let's get the hell out of here. We're behind schedule."

"What do you mean 'all the way out there'?" Taylor asks.

"It's a long way away," I twist the ring on my finger.

"So?"

"It's too far," I say, "too far to get to fast."

"You're talking crazy," Taylor says with a sigh.

"I wonder if—," but my own train of thought runs out.

"Wonder what?"

I blink, "I don't know. It's nothing. Forget it."

"No; tell me."

"I don't remember," I say, feel my right hand flex.

"Whatever. Just read the book."

"I will." I say.

The door chimes as she leaves.

I walk on stiff legs to the fiction section, and pick up the proper book.


	17. Chapter 17: Slender

**AN:** Well. I had a girlfriend. And then I didn't have a girlfriend anymore. I made someone cry.

* * *

**Reviews: **

**JTLETSGETIT: **I'm planning many things. Whether they will all come to fruition remains to be seen.

**SuperKassu:** I thought it was pretty obvious who that group was. Maybe not though… As for the candies; I won't speak of them.

* * *

[9] Untold

October 31, 5:00 PM

17\. S

I didn't realize how much of an irritation all the people at base were until they were all gone. Now that they are I can focus on things.

In this instance it's _Water for Elephants_. It's a book I've wanted to read for a while, but Lea always refused to read with me. I still don't know why she was so reluctant to read this book; we read stranger things.

Then I turn the page with a tentacle and think, "Oh, that's why." My lea didn't want to read about sex with me. I can't say I blame her; I just wish she'd told me what was wrong.

I run my mind over the building, checking for people. Mitch is in his own room, not moving, and Rabbit never bothers me anyway. Natasha is nearby though, and coming this way. With my luck she'll—

The door bangs open.

I flicker back out of the chair and into the corner of the room. I never want to leave her entirely unattended in here.

Natasha stalks into the room, still tugging her mask on over her face. I realize that normally my kind go their entire existence without seeing a single friendly face. Not that Natasha's would be that friendly.

She spots me in the corner. "Do you always stand there, or is it only around me?" She snaps.

I don't respond.

"You are the most antisocial, hard-to-talk-to person on this planet."

At least she called me a person, "You haven't met Jeff."

"'scuse me?"

I don't repeat myself.

"Fuck you then," She says, an throws down her backpack with a resounding thud.

I lean back slightly against a wall to watch this play out.

Natasha drags a chair into the center of the room. She sits and tips it back with one foot on the sofa. Once there she stops moving. I can feel her watching me.

"Why me?" She says, "Why make me your proxy?"

I consider telling the truth, telling her exactly why. I discard the idea as one of the worst I've had. "It's not important" I say.

"It's very important!" Natasha brings the front legs of the chair down again. It's a jarring impact. "Do you know what people treat me like? My best friend won't even talk to me, and you're making me stay here; away from everyone. I don't want to be here!" By now she's on her feet, chest heaving, neck flushed red. I assume her face is red too.

She must have thrown all caution to the wind. I don't know how she's expecting me to react.

"Then go," I say.

"What?" All the tension goes out of her.

"I don't want you here. You can leave." They never put her name on the documents anyway. Once someone is your personal, they're your personal forever; even the record keepers know that.

Natasha sits back down with a sigh. "No I can't. I don't know where they went."

I don't respond to that. Why was she even there that day? Why would she show up to try out for the part?

Finally I say, "I know."

"Know what?" She says, distracted.

"What it's like to be a personal."

Natasha doesn't answer. She stands up and crosses to the chair I was in before. Ignoring the book laying over the armrest—I never worry about leaving books open; she avoids them—she leans down to the floor to pick up…

The stuffed bear.

I feel my heartbeat stop, then resumes at twice the previous rate. How could I have left that there?

"What's this?" Natasha says, and I can almost imagine the grin on her face. She's holding the toy by one arm, dangling it in front of her like she just pulled it out of a dumpster.

I try to decide what to do. If it were Lea I would tell her the truth. "If it were Lea," is a phrase I've been thinking a lot lately.

I don't want Natasha having something to spread rumors about. Definitely not something true. Then again, Junior has a blanket. He's allowed to; he's a lot younger than me.

"Do you have a _Tedd?" _Natasha asks.

"I took it from one of my victims," I improvise.

She flinches, "that's just mean."

What did she expect? I must show some kind of response because she doesn't let the subject drop.

"I'll just throw it away then," She says. It's an unusual display of thoughtfulness. She must know I'm lying.

"Leave it here," I order without thinking. I can hear the fear in my own voice."

"Why?" She snaps back, latching onto the weakness.

"Just do it."

"You don't want this thing lying around," She waves the bear. I see a seam starting to give out on its shoulder. "It must be ancient."

14 years is hardly ancient.

I feel my body tense up, ready to lash out. I'm getting angry again. "Leave the bear here."

For the first time she hesitates, watching the tentacles squirm out of my back. My motionlessness is unnerving her.

Then Natasha takes the bear in both hands and pulls in opposite directions.

I try to act. I flicker across the room and seize one of her wrists with a tentacle and wrap another around her waist.

Natasha flinches at the same moment I start to remove her grip, and I feel the very distinct feeling of a seam tearing.

I flicker back in horror, releasing Natasha. The woman drops the stuffed bear and steps away from me.

I'm feeling that peculiar tight feeling in my throat that I haven't figured out yet. The stuffing of the bear is spilling out through the hole where its right arm used to be. It looks very forlorn.

Natasha is shaking. "Don't touch me," She hisses, hands balled into fists.

"I wasn't going to hurt you," I say, low and steady. I see the flicker of uncertainty in her again, I reach down and pick up the bear. The worn fabric is soft against my palm. I reach down and pick up the severed right arm.

"It's a stupid bear," She says.

"Get out." I hear the tremble in my own voice.

Natasha steps bac at my tone, her body betraying her. She recovers quickly. "How stupid can you get? There are a million others just like it."

No; there's only one like this. There's only one bear Lea asked for again and again when she was cut and bloody.

"Get out," I say again.

She doesn't move.

I pick up the book from the arm of the chair and toss it across the room. It hits the door and cracks the wood. "Leave," I order.

Natasha backs out of the room. As soon as the door closes she turns and runs as fast as she can.

I sit into the chair again, cradling the bear. I hear one long moan echo back from my own mind. I don't think there's a word for this feeling.


	18. Chapter 18: Chatroom 666

**AN:** Why wasn't this posted on Sunday? Finals. That's why. Summer goal; write 30 more chapters of this so I can focus on AP classes next fall. It's gonna be a pain in my butt. But it's summer; yay! No. I hate summer.

Some of you may recognize the beginning of this chapter from Hunter.

* * *

**Reviews: (Not all of them because wow)**

**SuperKassu:** You and I have the same mental image, but Natasha is a bit too thick to get the message.

**JTLETSGETIT:** The fact that it's depressing means I'm doing my job right.

**EpicStranger(Guest):** Your reviews have made me laugh, and for that I thank you. I hope you're reading this. I look forward to hearing from you again.

* * *

[10] SMILES

15 November, 3:00 AM

18\. Chatroom 666 (because everyone likes a joke)

**Warning: Language**

*TheTerribleFate has joined the chat-room*

*LostTrainer666 has joined the chat-room*

TheTerribleFate: Hey Silver

LostTrainer666: Benny

TheTerribleFate: Don't call me cute nicknames.

LostTrainer666: Okay, okay, don't get your green tights up your ass.

TheTerribleFate: …

LostTrainer666: What?

*AbusedDoll has joined the chat-room*

*SpreadtheWordEveryone has joined the chat-room*

AbusedDoll: Hey guys

TheTerribleFate: Oh good, you're here. Would you tell Silver that tights are very masculine?

AbusedDoll: Um…

LostTrainer666: You keep telling yourself that Benny.

TheTerribleFate: Whatever.

TheTerribleFate: Did you guys hear?

AbusedDoll: Hear what?

TheTerribleFate: EJ lost one.

LostTrainer666: Are you saying that we're down by one? When did this happen?

TheTerribleFae: It was a few months ago.

TheTerribleFate: Not one of us, not exactly.

AbusedDoll: Then what do you mean?

TheTerrbileFate: Have you guys heard the rumors about the girl Proxy?

AbusedDoll: Yes. Smile won't shut up about her.

TheTerribleFate: Well… it's her.

LostTrainer666: Well that's a shame. Why do we care?

TheTerribleFate: You guys didn't meet her. You have no idea what she's like.

LostTrainer666: Ya, ya, ya, she's great, we know. Even the Minecraft glitch has heard this stuff.

TheTerribleFate: No, it's not that.

TheTerribleFate: Okay, it is that,

TheTerribleFate: But it's also that she was a personal.

TheTerribleFate: And Jack had a soft-spot for her, not to mention that Jeff knew her pretty well.

TheTerribleFate: And she saved me from The Organization,

TheTerribleFate: So if you guys see her anywhere, give me a shout.

AbusedDoll: What happened?

TheTerribleFate: We don't know. She just vanished.

TheTerribleFate: It's bad.

LostTrainer666: Define "Bad."

TheTerribleFate: The Proxies might have blocked her and tossed her somewhere.

TheTerribleFate: They wouldn't dare to kill her, but if they took her memories…

TheTerribleFate: I don't think her master could handle it.

LostTrainer666: This is the Proxy that's got everyone in such a frenzy the last few years?

LostTrainer666: Are you sure she's not better off forgetting?

TheTerribleFate: Absolutely certain.

TheTerribleFate: We have to find her.

AbusedDoll: We'll keep a look out.

TheTerribleFate: You need a description?

LostTrainer666: Nope. I have pictures around here somewhere.

LostTrainer666: Smile has spared no details.

SpreadTheWordEveryone: _**In preparation for this occurrence.**_

TheTerribleFate: I was wondering when you would start talking.

TheTerribleFate: Anyway, thanks guys.

AbusedDoll: Too bad. I was just getting ready to take a look at this prodigy.

LostTrainer666: Me too. I've was gonna see if she's really THAT great.

TheTerribleFate: You have no idea.

*NooneInParticular has joined the chat-room*

NooneInParticular: Hello everyone!

LostTrainer666: Late to the party, as usual.

NooneInParticular: Oh haha. It's 3 AM; how do you expect me to be on time?

AbusedDoll: I've got to go guys. I hear someone calling me.

LostTrainer666: I have to go too.

AbusedDoll: Sorry Noone, maybe you'll make it on time next time.

*AbusedDoll has left the chat-room*

LostTrainer666: I'll keep a look out for the girl.

*LostTrainer666 has left the chat room*

*SpreadTheWordEveryone has left the chat-room*

TheTerribleFate: I guess that's my queue.

TheTerribleFate: Bye Noone.

*TheTerribleFate has left the chat-room*

NooneInParticular: Gee, thanks guys.

NooneInParticular: Way to make me feel welcome.

*TheTerribleFate has joined the chat-room*

TheTerribleFate: Wait, Noone, you're human, aren't you?

NooneInParticular: Yes…?

TheTerribleFate: I need you to do something for me.

NooneInParticular: What?

TheTerribleFate: A friend of mine is trying to find someone. A teenage girl.

TheTerribleFate: Will you look for her?

NooneInParticular: I need a description.

TheTerribleFate: Five foot six Inches, black hair, blue eyes.

TheTerribleFate: She has a scar on her left forearm and on her right shoulder. One on her side too, but you might not see that one.

NooneInParticular: There must be a thousand people who look like that.

TheTerribleFate: EJ, that's who's trying to find her, says that she'll be easy to find.

TheTerribleFate: What else…

NooneInParticular: What else could there possibly be?

TheTerribleFate: Shut up. I'm thinking, and you're acting weird.

TheTerribleFate: She'll have some problems. Nightmares, trouble sleeping, that kind of thing.

NooneInParticular: …

TheTerribleFate: Oh, and she might have amnesia. Really bad amnesia, like where she can't remember her entire life.

NooneInParticular: Oh. My. God.

TheTerribleFate: What?

NooneInParticular: What's her name?

TheTerribleFate: Lea.

NooneInParticular: I have to go, right now.

NooneInParticular: Bye.

TheTerribleFate: Wait! You've seen her, haven't you!

NooneInParticular: No.

*NooneInParticular has left the chat room*

TheTerribleFate: Oh, damn it.

TheTerribleFate: Let me just…

TheTerribleFate: You were using an internet Proxy, damn it.

TheTerribleFate: …

TheTerribleFate: The irony of that sentence has not been lost.

* * *

Minerva Higgins stares at her computer screen, feeling the thud of her heartbeat in the tips of her fingers.

The clicks open a new tab and types "TheTerribleFate" into the search bar. She scrolls down the familiar results with growing concern. Before she thought they were a little eccentric, those people online at 3 AM. Now she's starting to get another, significantly worse feeling.

Minerva scrolls back up and runs her eyes down the results; social media, facebook, forums, fanfiction sites, gaming sites, again and again that username. None of the profiles are very active; she's checked.

She clicks through pages, and when she gets to the third on she sees a new result. Not new exactly, but it was made within the last few months.

She clicks it.

A page pops up on a plain white background. It's not a very impressive design, but it looks official. The title reads "Find Lea Burns." There follows a brief description of how the poster, username TheTerribleFate, knows her and what she looks like. It's the same description that Minerva was given earlier.

But there has to be more than one person who looks like that, Minerva thinks, it's some kind of freak coincidence. Or better yet; a joke.

But, knowing TheTerriblFate, this is anything but a coincidence. He's repeatedly proven himself to be scarily accurate at not just predicting disasters but keeping Minerva and her brother out of trouble.

She scrolls down and is presented with three links to jpeg images. The comment on them reads "these are the only three pictures anyone has of Lea. Well, okay, clear pictures. That I can scan into a digital file."

Perfect; now she'll be sure if this is Lea is the one that's sleeping upstairs. If she is…she doesn't know what she'll do. Minerva's been suspecting the girl of something for a long time. She's not sure it's a good something.

Minerva takes a moment to reflect on how, until this moment, Lea has been more of an annoyance to her than anything else. She was nothing more than a curiosity, something to show off and talk about. Now that there was weight behind her, now that there was responsibility, a hint of a previous existence. Lea seems more real.

Minerva clicks the link to the first photograph. It pops open in a new tab, loading jerkily. For a second she doesn't recognize the girl in the picture. She has this look on her fact, it's not a smile, but it's like she's happy, and the difference it makes is incredible. Then Minerva sees the facial features and the body shape. She closes her eyes; it's the same person.

When she blinks her eyes open once again she sees the person in the background of the photo. People actually, because there's something peering in at the scene through a window. It's hairless and colorless and its arms and legs bend at odd angles. Minerva feels bile rising in her throat, but that's not the worst of it. The worst thing is the man. He's turned towards the camera, but has a hand blocking his face. He's wearing a white sweatshirt and his black hair is tangled around his face.

Minerva closes the web browser, shuts down the computer, and goes to bed. Her heart is pounding at a million miles a minute.

* * *

Chatroom 666: 5:30 AM

TheTerribleFate: Oh just fucking

TheTerribleFate: I give up.

TheTerribleFate: What kind of firewall is this?

TheTerribleFate: Fuck.

*EricHiggins972 has joined the chatroom*

TheTerribleFate: Fucking Shit

TheTerribleFate: I can't even fucking believe this.

EricHiggins972: Pardon?

TheTerribleFate: Oh that's just fucking perfect. Now I get to talk to you.

TheTerribleFate: Just because I was thrown in a lake when I was 8 doesn't mean I'm not allowed to swear!

EricHiggins972: I thought you were 18

TheTerribleFate: I am.

TheTerribleFate: Oh… Hi Eric.

EricHiggins972: Am I interrupting something?

TheTerribleFate: No. I'm just pissed.

EricHiggins972: I can tell.

TheTerribleFate: Have you talked to your sister lately?

EricHiggins972: No. I've been busy.

TheTerribleFate: Well do me a favor and call her

TheTerribleFate: and tell her, from me, that what she's doing is basically kidnapping.

EricHiggins972: What?

TheTerribleFate: Just tell her that.

EricHiggins972: Okay; I'm not going to ask. But what if she doesn't listen?

TheTerribleFate: Then I move on to plan B

TheTerribleFate: as soon as I can get through this encryption…

EricHiggins972: If it's the one at my house good luck. It's locked up tighter than the pentagon. Blame Dad.

TheTerribleFate: the Pentagon was child's play compared to this.

EricHiggins972: I'm going to ignore that.

EricHiggins972: Wait; are you actually trying to hack into my family's house.

TheTerribleFate: Not technically the house; the internet in the house.

TheTerribleFate: Blame your sister. She's withholding information.

EricHiggins972: No man; that's fucked up.

EricHiggins972: I mean; I knew you were a hacker, but this isn't okay.

TheTerribleFate: She has something we need.

EricHiggins972: I'm going to talk to her; alright?

EricHiggins972: I'll talk her into it.

TheTerribleFate: So?

EricHiggins972: So don't attack my family.

EricHiggins972: Tell you what; give me until New Years.

EricHiggins972: If I can't convince her by then you can do whatever you want.

TheTerribleFate: Fine.

TheTerribleFate: But if this goes bad I'm not just going to hack your system.

TheTerribleFate: I'll ping your house with a big red X and post it up on every site.

TheTerribleFate: and I will send every demon from the dpths of hell down on top of you.

TheTerribleFate: *depths

EricHiggins972: Okay man, jesus. What is this even about?

TheTerribleFate: My friend.

EricHiggins972: Oh.

EricHiggins972: I'll call her tomorrow; okay?

TheTerribleFate: You have until January first. Then hell breaks loose.

*TheTerribleFate has left the chatroom*

EricHiggins972: Just brilliant.

*EricHiggine972 has left the chatroom*


	19. Chapter 19: Lea

**AN: **Is this chapter too bloody? I don't think so. Then again; I am desensitized so much that I can't even tell anymore. Well; the warning is right there. Don't say I didn't give you one.

* * *

**Reviews:**

**Supperkassu:** Thanks! We'll see how much they know soon.

**JTLETSGTIT:** I wouldn't say "perfect." I'd say "better than usual."

**Guest:** Well they do know about Laughing Jack. Do they know Laughing Jack is in their house? No. And, as skilled at Ben is at getting around security systems, he still has the social skills of an eight year old boy, so I doubt they'll just hand her over.

* * *

[10] SMILES

November 16, 8:15 am

19\. Lea

**Warning: Animal cruelty. This is pretty screwed up.**

When I walk downstairs Kaylee thrusts the phone into my hand. She's scowling and still in her nurse's uniform from working all night.

"Something to eat, Mrs. Higgins?" I ask before raising the phone to my ear.

She frowns at the formal ton, but nods.

I tuck the phone between my shoulder and my ear as I go about starting breakfast.

"Hello?" I say.

"Hey, sweetie."

I frown, "Morning."

"Sleep okay?" Neil asks.

"Fine," I lie, then say, "you shouldn't call early. Kaylee works nights sometimes and she can be grumpy."

"I heard that," Kaylee says.

I glance back at her, smile apologetically.

"Can't help it," Neil says, "I want to make sure you're safe."

"Uh-huh," I say, mostly for Kaylee's benefit. I break an egg into a bowl with one hand.

"You working today?"

"Yep."

"Darn. Are you ever going to take a break?"

Not if he's going to rope me into a date when I do. "I'll see." A chunk of butter goes into a frying pan.

"What are you doing right now anyway?"

"Cooking breakfast," and wasting pennies on this call.

A soft beeping in the background of the call makes me pause, Neil keeps talking over it.

"You sure you won't take today off?"

"I've got a call waiting on my end," I say, "might be important."

"Like what?"

"Something at the hospital, or with Eric or Jenny. I'll talk to you later."

"Uh…bye then."

"Bye," I lower the phone, taking the opportunity to add the eggy mixture to the hot pan. I toss a piece of bread into the toaster before picking up the phone again.

"Hello," I say.

"Minerva?" Says a male voice, then, before I can say anything he continues, "Look; I talked to The Terrible Fate today and he said that you had something really important to him. He's trying to hack through the firewall, but god knows how long that will take, and he's making some weird threats, so whatever it is just give it back, okay?"

I glance behind me. Kaylee is looking spaced out.

I turn back to the eggs, "I think Minerva is still asleep."

"Mom?" He says, tentatively, like he's right on the brink of an interrogation.

"She just got home," I say, "Night shift. You're Eric?"

"I am. Who're you?"

"I'm Lea," I say. Something occurs to me, "has no one told you I'm here?"

"N-no," Eric stutters. He seems surprised.

I start folding the eggs the way they teach you in cooking school. "I'll wake Minerva for you in a minute. I can't leave the kitchen right now."

"Did they get a maid or something?"

I smile, "No. I'm just sort of here."

He goes quiet for a long time. I grab the toast and a plate and let the eggs slide onto the bread. In doing so the phone slides down to an awkward position so that I don't catch all of what Eric says next.

"Say again," I say, repositioning the phone.

"How long have you been there?" He repeats.

"A few months,"

Something that sounds like a splutter comes from the phone.

"I'm surprised Minerva hasn't told you," I say, "she gossiped to enough of her friends."

He winces.

I turn and set the plate of eggs in front of Kaylee. She smiles tiredly at me, and I return the expression.

"You don't sound like a girl talking to her boyfriend," Kaylee says to me.

I think about that a second, then I shrug. "I'll go wake Minerva up."

Kaylee nods, too tired to pester me as she usually does.

Over the phone Eric says, "Why didn't you give her the phone?"

"This doesn't sound like something she should know." I push open the door to Minerva's room, flick on the lights. When the sleeping girl rolls over, groaning, I hold out the phone.

"It's your brother."

Minerva takes the device, presses it to her ear, "Eric?"

I turn and leave the room, closing the door behind me.

Kaylee is almost done with her breakfast. When I ask if there's anything else she wants, she says no, but I could feed the kids. She goes upstairs to take a show and sleep.

I decide I could probably be a little late to work.

* * *

3:29 pm

It's raining by the time I leave the bookstore. It's not the pounding sheets of rain I keep expecting, but a drizzle of fog and cold air off the nearby lake that chills the entirety of the valley floor. It's absolutely miserable out. I don't blame everyone who keeps on driving.

I think that Damion and Adrian have probably woken Kaylee up by now because they're stuck inside. Either that or Minerva tossed them out, which I somehow doubt.

I'm probably stuck walking home either way. I'm okay with that; I'm looking forward to it. The rain is just a bonus.

I lock the door, flip the sign to "closed," and step out into the rain. I push the hood of my jacket down and let the cold water hit my face. I shiver, then get over the chill and start walking.

A noise startles me in the silence. It's a clang of metal and something organic meeting with force, and it's coming from the behind the strip-building, the bookstore is set into. It's only a few doors down from the café Minerva dragged me to on the first day of school.

I hesitate for perhaps two seconds before curiosity and a strong sense of approaching danger get the better of me and I set off behind the building.

The clanging seemed to be a one-time event, but as I near its source I make out a steady snarling sound, with a very faint ripping noise in the background.

I peak around the end of the dumpster behind the café and see the tail end of a large shaggy dog, tail waving sluggishly, low down. The animal continues to tear at something between its paws, and a spray of red splatters the dumpster. The rain rinses it away moments later.

I lick my lips, half nervous. Every twisted fantasy I've had for the past few months is coming back in vivid detail. One in particular appears to me; gutting someone, a girl in my class, pulling out long ropes of intestines and spreading them to get to the deeper organs; the liver and kidneys, and taking out each one slowly while the victim is still alive and conscious. Why this is so specific I don't know.

I reach into my jeans for the pocket knife I know is there. I get my fingers around it, but I must make some kind of noise because the dog whirls to face me, teeth bared and ears back against its head. It's mouth is stained with blood, and in the silence I can hear a faint plaintive mewling noise from the space behind the animal.

We stand there for a moment. I'm staring at the blood on the dog's teeth, and the animal's intelligent eyes are looking at me as if trying to place a memory.

I'm beginning to recall a vague animal shape from somewhere inside my head. The thing shoves at my memory and causes ripples of pain to go through my head.

The dog turns around, breaking the spell. It picks something up in its mouth and turns to face me again. What it drops to the ground is a kitten, shaking in the cold and drenched with blood.

The dog shoves the kitten forwards and lies down on the freezing asphalt. Thump, thump, thump, goes its tail on the ground. It's waiting.

I look from the kitten; shaking on tiny paws, to the dog; its muzzle stained with blood. Intelligent brown eyes blink at me expectantly, glittering with malice. I wait for it to leap at me, but it doesn't. It doesn't want to hurt me; it wants me to do something.

I feel the rush of bloodlust I get sometimes, and I look at the kitten again. The pocketknife feels heavy in my hand, as if hyperly in existence.

I know what the animal wants me to do. I look at it again, asking for permission. The thump, thump, thump of its tail speeds up.

I flick the blade of the knife open, press the sharp edge against my palm to test it. It draws a thin line of blood. Then I crouch down next to the kitten and offer it one finger. It meows in a tiny squeak of a voice. It's not old enough to live long without its mother.

I push it over almost gently. The blood of its mother is making its fur slippery. My own blood is pooling in a tiny cut where I chewed the side of my thumb nail. The rain washes that away quickly.

I press the kitten into the pavement and hold its head still with my palm. Then, in my left hand, the pocketknife slips easily into its soft stomach, swollen with milk. I feel the muscle part, the veins rupture, the fat squish back from the metal.

The kitten starts up a pitiful high-pitched wailing. Blood seeps out of the cut as I work the knife up and down, lengthening the cut. I wish the blade were serrated.

When the cut it big enough I abandon the knife, working two fingers into the incision, hot blood providing a stark contrast to the surrounding cold. The texture is soft and slick, and it takes me a moment to properly grip the tiny intestines. They unspool from the kitten in purple-red ropes, spongey and soft between my fingers.

I feel a smile start on my lips. It turns into a grin as I move my gingers around, listening to the wails of the kitten. Thump, thump, thump goes the dog's tail on the ground.

The legs next, like twigs in my fingers. They snap with barely any effort, splintering the bone and breaking the skin. Blood begins to leak from there as well. The mewling is still going; still screaming. Keep screaming.

I return to the knife, digging the very tip into the kitten's eye socket. I twist so the tiny blue eye hangs from its nerve. I take it between my fingers, gently, but the mere touch is enough to rupture it and fluid spurts out. A few drops of it hit me in the face. The faint remains of the tissue remain in my hand, still attached to the optic nerve. The rope of the nerve is so heavy that the kitten responds to the lightest tug on it.

I take the nerve itself between my fingers, adjust my hold on the tiny body, and pull. My fingers slide on the flesh, and I wrap my index finger in the smooth cord, yank again. Something tears within the kitten's skull, and the nerve comes out. A gush of blood pours out of the eye socket as if it were a drink machine full of cherry soda.

I let the other eye go, forcing open the kitten's tiny mouth. The mewling stops, though its tongue keeps writhing and its throat convulsing as it tries to.

My mind goes red in the silence. I need the noise; I like the noise. I release its mouth and jam the blade of the knife into its abdomen. I'm rewarded by a wail, and I twist the blade, turning the kitten's organs into a soup of blood, bile, half-digested waste. The liquids come pouring out, adding to the puddle on the ground, and I work the knife deeper and deeper until the sound from the kitten is not unlike a human. Then I remove the knife and stab into its ribcage repeatedly, each time savoring the feeling of muscle tearing beneath my blade.

I stand up, pressing its head into the ground with one shoe.

Thump, thump, thump, the dogs tail on the ground. I lift my foot and bring it down, but I miss the first stomp and crush the kitten's pelvis under my heel. I feel the bones shatter, splinter into the surrounding flesh, dig deep into the tissue. The second time I hit home, and the squalling of the animal is cut short. Brain and bone squish satisfyingly beneath my shoe. I stomp again for good measure, turning the mess into a pulverized goop.

I take one breath, two. My hands are red with blood. My pocketknife is bloody; my shoes are caked with brains, and I have never felt so alive.

I look at the dog. It isn't wagging its tail anymore; it's just watching me. A pink tongue appears and licks its lips.

I smile, bow slightly to the animal, and say, "Thank you for sharing with me." I turn on my heel and start walking away.

I hear paws start to follow.


	20. Chapter 20: Lea

**AN:** I was so psyched to finish this fic over the summer (Well; the rough draft.) and then things happened, and now I won't have time. Brilliant.

* * *

**Reviews:**

**Superkassu**: I'm glad you had this response. I hope the rest of my readers are getting the message as clearly as you are.

* * *

[10] SMILES

November 16, 5:15 PM

20\. Lea

I pause where a stream of rainwater is running off a roof and take the time to rinse the majority of the blood off my hands. The gore caked around and under my nails will have to wait until I get back to the house.

The dog, though I realize it's definitely not a dog, is standing behind me when I turn around, tail wagging.

"What?" I say to the dog-like thing.

It doesn't reply of course; it just tilts its head.

I watch the animal for a few seconds before I turn to start walking. It keeps following. After about a minute of hearing its claws clicking against the ground, I give up.

"You're not a dog," I say.

The pace of the steps behind me speed up so the creature is next to me. It makes no noise.

"But you can't talk," I continue.

Its tail wags faster. That means yes.

"I don't get it," I say, "it was a kitten. If that's not messed up I don't know what is."

The dog makes no response.

"Yes," I snap, as if it has, "I've had the weird dreams and stuff, but I don't act on them. It wasn't until you egged me on that I—," I break off, covering my face with one bloody hand.

The dog stops walking when I do. Not bothering to hide the unnaturalness, it gazes at me with menacing eyes. I look into them and, again, feel the bloodlust in me trying to get loose. I look away before it can and continue walking.

"Why are you following me?" I ask, not expecting a reply and not getting one. I just keep talking after a second, "I didn't even feed you."

That gets a growl and I interpret it as a scornful laugh.

"I don't know what you are," I say, "but my head is empty and my hands know how to gut a cat." I stop talking, just thinking about what I said.

I cross the road, the dog still following me, and make my way towards the familiar slanting roof of the house. I pause. The creature stops beside me.

"You can't go in there," I say, "they have a cat and a dog already. Not that I would care if you got the dog."

It sits down. I look at the animal for a long time and it looks back at me with those terrifying eyes. Again there's the feeling inside me, the desire to kill. I break eye contact.

"What's wrong with me?" I ask, helpless.

The dog presses its head against my leg and thumps its tail against the ground. "Nothing," it's saying without words, "nothing at all."

I reach down and rub its head. The fur is thick under my fingers and surprisingly soft. Something sparks in the back of my head—_Running hands through soft fur, listening to the content growling. I know the creature could kill me on the spot if it wanted to. A light touch on my shoulder; a plea for attention, and I turn my head to glance back—_

I remove my hand from the dog's head sharply, my head pounding. I'm feeling sick again. I step away from the creature and it gets up.

"Goodbye then," I say, and take one step away. Yet again I stop.  
"On the chance that you, uh, you know me, will you send someone up here? Because I—," I feel my voice catch slightly, "I'm not sure how long I can last."

There's the thump, thump, thump, of its tail against the ground in response.

I nod, not looking back, and walk the rest of the way to the house. I shake out my hair in the entrance way, water droplets flying in all directions. When I look up I see the twins across the room from me, watching TV in remarkable quiet.

Kip starts barking, or yapping, at me. He comes tearing towards me, teeth bared, ready to bite, and I prepare myself to kick him. In self-defense, of course. Instead the dog falls short, nose twitching. His stump of a tail goes down low and his ears go back. He whimpers. I watch as Kip slinks under the table, trembling.

I pull off my jacket, hang it up, and then untie my shoes. My jeans are soaked too, but I leave those on.

"Lea, honey," Kaylee calls from upstairs, "that Neil boy was on the phone for you a few minutes ago."

I scowl and call, "Okay, thanks for telling me."

Poe meets me on the stairs, purring. I reach down one hand, which he sniffs, and then he hisses loudly. The cat arches his back, fur on end, and backs off into the hallway. I watch in silence, thinking about blood on my hands and whimpering meows and how good it felt to let go and kill something.

I walk up the stairs past the cat and then to the ladder to my room. On the pillow is a red candy, as if my visitor knew I would need a pick-me-up. I pop the candy into my mouth and think about the color of guts as the flavor washes over me.


	21. Chapter 21: Lea

**AN:** Traffic to this fic dropped severely last week. I guess the kitten was a bit too much. Well; there's more where that came from folks, so get used to it. Read some Stephen King or something.

**Reviews:**

**Anonymous(Guest): **Thank you! Believe me; I don't plan to stop writing any time soon.

**xxJadeyCakesxx:** That's a very high compliment, and I thank you for it. I guess you'll have to wait and see. ;)

* * *

[11] Bells

December 25, 4:00 PM

21\. Lea

Small warning: language

When Eric arrives I'm sitting in my, his, room. I hear the noise from downstairs as he enters the house and is tackled by his siblings. I let out a long breath and smile a little.

"Here we go," I say for the benefit if anyone that might be listening.

I get to my feet, setting aside the novel I'm reading. I walk to the trapdoor, but before I can reach it it's pushed up by someone. I must have hesitated longer than I thought.

He has black hair and glasses behind which brown eyes blink at me in surprise. I look back at him a few moments, taking in the scruff on his chin and the structure of his face. He probably looks like his father.

"Eric," Kaylee says sharply from below him, "leave that girl alone."

"It's alright, Mrs. Higgins," I call, looking at Eric, "I'm in his room, after all."

Eric climbs the rest of the way into the room, the trapdoor falling open behind him. Poe hisses at him from under the bed.

"I'm Lea," I say, holding out my right hand a little awkwardly.

"uh, hello," Eric says, shaking it loosely.

Janey leaps up the ladder and grabs her brother's legs in a hug. Eric stumbles a little from the force and makes a very undignified noise as he does so. I smile; what is it about this family and setting me off?

From below Kaylee tries a different approach. "Lea, would you help me get dinner ready."

"Sure," I say, and Eric shuffles out of the way as I move past him and down the ladder.

Kaylee frowns at me as I reach the landing, prompting me to ask, "Should I move to the couch while Eric is here? I can wash the sheets right now."

As expected that changes her attitude. "Of course not, Sweetie; Eric can make due on the couch."

It's just as well she says so. I'm not sure how my friend in the closet would react to Eric sleeping in that room.

Minerva is looking up at us from downstairs, watching with a mixture of annoyance and admiration.

I nod slightly to Kaylee and go down to the first floor. The woman follows me, and Eric comes down after her, carrying over one shoulder like a sack of flour. The girls is shrieking with delight. He pulls Minerva aside while Kaylee and I head into the kitchen.

"She seems really nice," I hear Eric say.

"Nah; she's just got mom figured out." Minerva replies.

The rest of the conversation is drowned out as Kaylee rummages through the cupboard for the right pot.

I reach into my pocket and pop a red candy into my mouth.

* * *

Dinner is supposedly Eric's favorite, and it appears to be true. He gulps down his plate with a speed that shocks me; the sauce on the pasta is so rich even I have to pace myself. Eric helps himself to seconds.

The younger kids are eating slowly, and Minerva is paying special attention to her garlic bread. No one is talking much. The empty chair is painfully conspicuous. Kaylee's husband, Mike, won't be home for another day and a half.

I've only met him once, and I plan to stay far out of his way while he's here. He doesn't approve of my presence. It also happens that I am of the opinion that he should spend more time with his kids, and when I mentioned it, he made it very clear he didn't agree. I spent that night with the nightstand on top of the trapdoor.

"How are your classes going, Eric?" Kaylee asks, jolting me out of my thoughts.

They're alright," Eric says through a mouthful of pasta. He swallows before going on, "Organic Chemistry is going to be the death of me."

"Are they making you take that?" Minerva asks.

"They do for most biology majors."

I tune out, watching the gold ring on my finger reflect the light from the lamps overhead. The tiny engravings are clearly visible on its surface, casting tiny shadows. I'm trying to remember something, something very important.

"Lea," Minerva says.

I blink, "Sorry, what?"

"Eric was asking about your memory, dear," Kaylee says.

"Oh," I say and make eye contact with Eric. I sense him shiver. "What about it?"

"Just…can you remember things sometimes?"

I nod once, lean my cheek on one fist. "Sometimes stuff comes through."

At that moment Kaylee engages him again, asking about his friends, roommates, and Eric doesn't get the chance to ask the rest of the question until after dinner.

"What kind of stuff?" Eric asks, bending over to put his plate in the dishwasher.

I don't answer. I'm thinking about the guts from the kitten still stuck to the bottom of my shoe and drying to the same brown as the grime that was already there.

"Sorry," Eric says, "you must be sick of that question." He starts to turn away.

"Christmas Eve is tomorrow," I say. I'm not really talking to him, but this has been bothering me, and I want to say it.

Eric stops walking, "So?"

"I probably have a family out there somewhere," I feel a shudder go through me.

He doesn't respond for a long time. I finish what I'm doing and start to leave the kitchen. Then Eric says, "Do you remember a family?"

"I remember people. A lot of people, but not much bedsides that they exist."

"Oh."

I miss them. I think so at least. I really miss them, but I don't tell Eric that. I walk up the stairs, climb up the ladder to his—my—room, and push the nightstand across the room and on top of the trapdoor, effectively locking myself in for the night.

* * *

?

"Spill," Eric Higgins says to his sister.

"What?" Minerva says, feigning ignorance. She leans back in her chair, and spins to glare at Eric where he's standing in the doorway of her room.

"What did you take from Terrible?"

Minerva turns back to her computer screen, pulling up a window in the web browser.

"Minerva, for the love of god; he's a hacker. Do you know the king of stuff that—,"

Minerva moves away from the screen, revealing the photograph displayed there. "Look at it and tell me it's not her," She says.

"Holy shit," Eric takes a step towards the screen, "Is that really…?"

"That's Lea," Minerva crosses her arms, "this is what he wants back."

Eric heaves a sigh, "Can't we just, I don't know, give her to him?"

"I don't know." Minerva sighs. She stretches over her head with both arms. "You remember how we used to joke about Terrible not boing human? Or that he was a superhero or something?"

"Ya," Eric smiles at the memories.

"Well; what if he's not human? What then?" The girl moves the pointer so it's hovering over the thing in the window.

Eric snorts, "This is Terrible; he can't resist a joke. That has to be photoshopped."

In response she points to the man dressed in white, "Then what's that?"

"Some professional work," Eric says, shrugging, "Terrible probably does it himself." He looks down at Minerva, "that's definitely her, but it's too weird."

"I don't know," Minerva says, "I don't think we should 'give her back,' whatever that means."

Eric goes quiet for a long time, then he says, "What if he's her family?"

"Why hasn't there been more news coverage if she's gone missing?" Minerva asks.

"She said something to me earlier," Eric goes on, "about remembering people and how she must have a family out there somewhere. Minerva; it's almost Christmas."

Minerva has a comeback for that. "We're her family now."

"I think she's lonely, Min. Can't we just send her back to wherever she came from? It'll be better for everyone."

"I just have a bad feeling about this."

There's the ding of a received message from Eric's pocket. He reaches for his phone automatically and enters his password.

"New message from TheTerribleFate."

Eric reads the message, his chest suddenly constricted with dread. "Hey; will you do me a favor and tell Lea 'Merry Christmas' from me? I always start missing my mom this time of year. I can't imagine what it's like to not have anyone."

Eric starts to say something, but the phone dings again.

"Tell her 'Ben says Merry Christmas," please."

"Oh motherfucker," Eric says under his breath.


	22. Chapter 22: Slender

**AN:** I'm writing about Christmas in July. This is what my life has become.

* * *

**Review:**

**Superkassu:** Plot twists; yes. Amazing; no.

* * *

[11] Bells

Dec. 25, 7:00 AM

22\. Slender

The tiny blue star is warm again my palm. I removed the necklace very carefully so as not to break it. I needed to touch something that reminded me of Lea. I have our journals too, and the two pieces of her stuffed bear. I know I'll need those things soon.

I wasn't expecting Christmas to affect me so much. Lea was never especially big on material possessions, not when I knew her, but Christmas meant something. Holidays are a distinctly human concept and I have trouble grasping them, so I had only her actions as indications of meanings.

Christmas meant talking and Lea curling up under blankets with long books. It meant hot chocolate and long hours with her asleep against my side. I miss that.

This new Christmas, the concept of being along, that's confusing. I'm going to be along, finally completely alone. I'm not sure how I feel about it.

I keep rubbing the gemstone between my fingers, feeling the tiny ridges where the stone was cut into shape. This helps. I can get through this.

Natasha flings open the door to the room stomping into it a couple steps before stopping.

"I'm leaving now," She says, "gotta have Christmas dinner with my parents at four."

I coil the silver chain up and close my fist around it. "Okay."

"What do you have there?" She asks, her eyes snapping to the reflection off the metal.

"A necklace," I say without thinking.

"From a victim?" she asks.

"From a little girl," I say, thinking of my most recent kill, "she died yesterday."

That seems to give her pause, as if she never really thought about the killing until right then, and now finds she's disturbed by the thought.

"Whatever; I'm leaving now. Tell that weird Eagle person not to go through my stuff."

I don't tell her that Mitch is gone too. Back to one of his family, I suppose. I would wreck her room myself to get a reaction if the space wasn't so small. So small I can't breathe properly in it.

Natasha is still standing in the door, as if waiting for something.

I flick open a book and start reading from it. It's not a new one, and I've already read this part, but it serves its purpose, sort of. It breaks the silence.

"I've talked to a few other Personals you know," Natasha says.

I really wish she wouldn't do this now.

"You're not normal," she goes on, "you don't act like the other Slendermen."

I feel a flicker of anger; it's useless to bring this us now. How much longer am I expected to control my temper? But I remind myself it's Christmas, take a deep breath, and manage to calm down.

"You're going to be late," I say.

"Suit yourself." Natasha waves over her shoulder as she leaves the room.

I resume rubbing the necklace in my fingers. I'm finally alone for the first time in years. I didn't realize how much I enjoyed the human senses until every avenue to them had been removed. I miss sound already. All I can sense are vibrations.

Then, quite abruptly, Natasha sticks her head back through the door. I wasn't even aware she was coming back.

"There's some guy here for you. At least I think he is."

"I'm not interested."

"He's sort of twitching. I think there's something wrong."

Now I recognize this as what it is; a request for protection. I realize something else; Puppets twitch.

"Natasha," I say, slipping the necklace into my pocket, "come inside."

"What?"

"Lock the door behind you." I stand up, flickering halfway through the transition. I'm weaker than I thought.

"Oh for the love of god," she says, stepping inside and locking the door with a soft click, "it's Christmas. Can't we do this another time?"

"Quiet." I'm letting my mind drift outward. I feel it; the other person. I feel the haziness in their mind and the shadow of another over them, moving them in a jerky facsimile of motion. I hear the shuffling of their feet and the sound of metal on concrete.

"What are you doing?" Natasha asks.

"Step away from the door," I order, "against the back wall. Go on."

Natasha complies grudgingly, far too slowly. No sooner than her back has met the far wall I can feel the vibration of the person approaching. The thing they're dragging is producing an irritating scrapping sound against the floor.

"Are you actually going to do anything or do you just plan on standing there?" Natasha snaps.

"Listen," I say, tracking the sound now and far too focused to feel bothered by her tone.

Natasha falls silent as she makes out the sound. She shivers at the sound. It's the shriek of metal against stone.

The movement stops right outside the door like I knew it would.

"Oh shit," Natasha says under her breath.

For a few seconds there's nothing, and in the pause I feel a single tentacle squirm out of my back, writhing in agitation.

A thick envelope slides beneath the door and the scraping sound resumes, heading back the way it came. I retrieve the object and flicker back to the table. I open the envelope, doing my best not to get a paper cut.

"Oh," Natasha blinks. She steps away from the wall."

"Get going," I say, "it's okay now."

"That was it? She asks.

I look up at her, the paper till halfway inside the envelope. "Be thankful that was it."

She walks out, red hair swishing behind her and somehow communicating her displeasure.

I extract the card from the envelope and flick it open. A scrap of fabric falls out. I can't tell what color it is, but it's dark. I snatch it up and rub it between my fingers as I read the note on the inside of the card.

The words 'Merry Christmas" are printed in a swirling script from a computer, not a hand. Below that someone has written "it was the right thing to do." On the inside is sheet of paper bearing a rough sketch of someone in a chair, black hair falling forward and obscuring their face. Their shirt is cut open, exposing skin and part of a bra.

I feel queasy, and I look at the fabric scrap in my hand. I wonder; can you see the memories when you block someone?

What a sick excuse for a Christmas Present.


	23. Chapter 23: Lea

**AN: **It's come to my attention that there's a bit of an issue with one of the twin's names. It's Daniel, not Damion. I sometimes type the wrong one in because Damion is Dr. Reed's first name. My bad.

Also; I have a job on the weekends now, so I'll probably be updating during the week for the rest of the summer.

* * *

**Reviews:**

**xxJadeycakesxx: **Nononononono no crying allowed. That goes for all of you. No crying.

**Superkassu:** You too? No. No crying. No.

* * *

[11] Bells

December 25, 9:00 AM

23\. Lea

I wake up when Janey jumps onto my bed, bouncing me into consciousness. I scowl, wishing I was still dreaming.

"It's Christmas!" She squeals, jumping with both feet.

I groan, "Go wake up your brother." He's the closest to the tree.

"Hurry, hurry, hurry," She scrambles down the ladder.

I close my eyes again, just for a second. Something rushes up out of my mind to grab me.

_"Lea, Lea, Lea," Childlike voices chorus together._

_ "What?" My own voice, still half-asleep. I blink open my eyes to see two faces peering at me. One set of eyes are black, the other bright green._

_ "It's Christmas!" They say together._

_ "Is it? Shit." I cover my eyes with my arm-_

I open my eyes again before the flashback plays out and stare at the ceiling. The hallucinations fade to an auditory hum.

_"Hey wake up," my own voice again._

_ "I don't want to,"_

_ "It's Christmas. The girls are here."_

_ "Oh no."_

My vision starts to blur with tears. I'm not sure why. I shake my head and bite the side of my thumb to stop them running down my face.

I throw off the blankets and go downstairs. I can already hear the expressions of delight from the kids and Eric laughing with them.

Poe curls around my ankles, meowing hungrily. I scoop him off the ground and press my face into his fur. The cat squirms and I set him down again. He gives me a reproachful look before he runs off.

Downstairs the kids have sorted the presents into piles based on recipient. As expected mine is considerably smaller than the others. I was expecting nothing else; I'm not really a member of the family, after all. The pile dedicated to Mike, Kaylee's husband, is unattended. It's good for me, but not so for the others.

I sit down on the floor and stifle a yawn behind my hand.

"Cheer up, honey," Kaylee says to me, "it's Christmas."

I nod, but think that it doesn't look very Christmassy. There's no snow on the ground.

I wait while people open their presents. Exclamations of delight fill the room. Some of them are faked.

I eye my own gifts and the fragile wrapping paper for several minutes before taking one of the two parcels. I can already tell it's an article of clothing by the soft texture. I start to carefully remove the wrapping paper, doing my best not to tear it. I succeed in the first end, but make a small rip on the second. Irritation makes me yank off the rest of the wrapping roughly. To the others it must look like I'm an eager child.

I unfold the jacket. Dismay momentarily creases my brow. It's blue, but not navy blue. It's a pastel bordering on gray. It might as well be neon pink.

"The jacket you have now is so worn out," Kaylee says to me. She's turning a salad spinner in her hands, frowning slightly.

I smile at her, "It is. Thank you." I feel like some part of me has been amputated. That same empty feeling is pounding through me, making me shiver with imagined cold.

The other present turns out to be a book; _IT _by Stephen King. I have yet to find one of his books, or any book, scary.

The twins are already swinging fake swords at each other. I keep insisting that I didn't buy them, which is a lie. Kaylee is sending me disapproving looks.

Janey reaches under the Christmas tree. It looks forlorn without the pile of presents beneath it. She produces a plain white box of the kind you might expect to find a coffee mug or a ceramic cat in. Everyone is watching her now, mentally tallying the presents, and I can tell by looking that no one bought this gift.

Daniel leans over Janey's shoulder and reads the label aloud, "Lea."

They all look at me, confusion on their faces.

I smile, "Maybe Santa Clause brought it." I'm only half-joking.

Kaylee smiles tightly, but Minerva is not amused.

Janey shrieks in delight, "Open it, open it!"

I accept the box, still smiling. Minerva is giving me an odd look, but I ignore it.

I pull the top of the box open and stop when I see what's inside. The surprise must show on my face.

"What is it? What is it?" Janey asks, hopping on the spot. Her own toys lay forgotten at her feet.

"A marionette," I say, and it is. So small it would fit in the palm of my hand, strings fine as spider's silk. It's beautiful. "My goodness," I say softly, reaching into the box and lifting the wooden panel used to control the doll.

It rises as if alive, tiny legs walking in midair as I move my fingers. The tiny blade of the knife in its right hand gleams, the plague-doctor mask obscures its eyes. Are those bloodstains on the white shirt, beneath the dark cloak?

"Oh my," Kaylee says.

"god," Minerva finishes for her.

I turn the tiny puppet with the strings, examining the workmanship.

"It must have cost a fortune," Kaylee says,

"I don't think so," Minerva seems to be in shock.

I glance up at her, "Yes; it cost more than we can ever know."

"You have to name him," Janey says. She's watching the figure with huge eyes, like her brothers. I'm making the knife move back and forth through the air.

"No I don't; he's Isaac." I show her the name stitched into the puppet's back.

Minerva starts as if struck.

Eric, who has been silent and motionless until now says, "Issac?" In a dazed sort of way.

I shrug and get to my feet. The marionette does a tap-dance in mid-air. "I'm going to put this in my room. I'll be back in a minute.

I climb up into the room and look around. I don't really want this on my bed. Eventually I suspend the fragile object from the same push pin that's holding Janey's drawing of the clown.

Poe hisses at it from the top of the bed. I quiet him with a pat on the head.

"Thank you," I say aloud, before turning to go back downstairs.

I hear the distinct sound of the closet door as I descend.

"Where'd you put it?" Minerva asks on my arrival.

"Away," I say.

Janey bounces up to me, holding the bracelet-making kit I got her; the last present she had to unwrap. "Lea," She says, "thank you, thank you, thank you!"

I half-laugh at her, "careful; you'll trip."

At that moment one of her feet gets caught in a stray ribbon and I instinctively catch the girl before she can hit the floor. I might be a bit too forceful, or maybe she's just shaken, but the girl immediately goes silent.

"Come on," I say, because the hush in unnerving me, "I'll make a few with you."

Her face lights up, "Okay," She drags me over to the table.

"That's what she does," Minerva says to Eric; Kaylee is separating the twins from their swords. "She figures you out, then wraps you around her finger and makes you dance."

I shrug to myself; she's not wrong.


	24. Chapter 24: Lea

**AN:** Ladies and gentlemen; we're home free! It's all downhill from here. You made it through the difficult bit.

* * *

**Reviews:**

**xxJadeyCakesxx:** After this chapter hopefully you won't be so feel-sy. Though I doubt it. Maybe a little happier at least.

**SuperKassu:** That's the trick. I have a folder here of that kind of stuff.

* * *

[12] New (Old) Friends

February 5, 11:05 PM

24\. Lea

It's cold out, a sharp cold that cuts down to the bone. It doesn't bother me that much. Even the climb up the hill doesn't bother me that much. The idea that I could just walk away is so liberating I have to stop myself from skipping. I don't want to shake up the bottles in my bag.

I'm hauling the bag up the hill behind Minerva's house. About halfway up there's a clearing that overlooks part of the town. Maybe I can get a little peace there.

I really shouldn't be doing this on a school night, but I need to check out for a little while. Finals at school slaughtered me and my grades. I don't want to go back to school, but I don't really have a choice in the matter, and I won't run away. I have to stay put in case someone finds me.

I reach the clearing and swing the bag off my shoulder. My hand comes up and wipes at my mouth, trying to eliminate the feeling of lips there.

Neil finally succeeded in kissing me again. He taped my shoulder and when I turned around he kissed me. It was right in the school hallway. There was plenty of catcalling.

I didn't like being kisses. It felt all wrong. Not the action itself, but something about the energy and the way Neil leaned into me slightly. I can still feel his mouth against mine; soft and warm and a little wet.

The only reason I didn't punch him was he had his hands holding my arms at my sides. I didn't kick out because my feet had nowhere to go. I just stood there for what must have been fifteen seconds, trapped against my locker before Neil pulled away. He was smiling.

I kick a pinecone and send it bouncing down the hill. The more I think about it the worse the memory gets. Disgusting things keep creeping into my head. They're not like killing the kitten. These things are heavy hands and legs straddling me, lips against my neck and fingers on my chest. They're worse than any nightmares about gutting.

I shiver, not from the cold, and look over the town. Downtown is lit up like a beacon; I can see the glow even though it's hiding behind a hill. The interstate runs parallel to the main road. The lights of cars zip past like shooting stars. More importantly I can see the stars clearly overhead.

I gaze up at them, letting the light pull me into thoughts of th universe instead of my own tiny life. Along with this comfort a second desire in me cries out, nameless and directionless. I need to fill this space.

I step over to my bad and reach in for the bottles of beer. Peer pressure isn't going to get to me; I'm talking myself into drinking. That's something to brag about.

Kaylee doesn't drink much and Mike is never home, so these won't be missed. There's too much alcohol in that house in easy-to-reach places.

I twist the cap on the beer, breaking the seal. Foam instantly washes over my fingers as the liquid fizzes. I hold the bottle at arm's length as the foam pours down it and onto the ground. I don't want to smell like I spilled beer on myself on top of everything else; I'll just end up getting in trouble.

A few seconds later the foaming stops. I switch the bottle to my left hand and flick the beer off my right one. My fingers flex without my command, grasping for something I can't reach.

I clench that hand into a fist, wishing I didn't bite my nails so they would dig into my palms.

There's a slight sound behind me, barely more than a rustle of pine needles. I turn my head fast but whatever it is it's not in my line of sight. I shrug it off; there have been stranger things around me in the past months.

I turn back to the view and raise the bottle in a toast, as if the people down below will do the same.

"Here's to failing English," I say, then add under my breath, "and forgetting what Neil tastes like."

I raise the bottle to my mouth and tilt my head back. The alcohol has barely touched my tongue when it happens.

Something slams into me from behind. At first I think it's an accident, and in that split second I'm indignant. Then the bottle is knocked from my hand with the kind of accuracy you just don't get from coincidences. It lands, cracking on a rock a few feet away and breaking neatly into three pieces.

I find myself restrained from behind, one arm wrapping tight around my chest and a hand clamped over my mouth. A knife is hovering a couple inches from my cheek, in the hand of the arm around my chest.

I can feel the calluses and scars against my face, the unexpectedly soft fabric of a sweatshirt against my neck. I can feel the person behind me too, almost feverishly warm, breathing heavily. The smell of alcohol and cigarettes washes over me.

I swallow the small amount of alcohol in my mouth, not enjoying the flavor at all, and take a deep breath of the smell. It should turn my stomach, but it doesn't. I'm calm, and looking at the knife only slows my heartbeat more.

"Go on then," Says a rough voice from behind me, "try to scream."

I frown, trying to place the voice. I've heard it somewhere before. I let out a half-hearted whimper since they seem to want me to make noise.

"No hard feelings, but it's better when people are already asleep."

I definitely know that voice from somewhere.

He removes his hand from my mouth, raising the knife to my cheek in a vain attempt to scare me.

I'm aware anyone else would be screaming at the top of their lungs. My attacker seems to be waiting for this very thing, and when I do nothing he presses the tip of the knife into my cheek.

I wince as the freezing metal pierces my skin , and I feel the movement travel through him as well.

"It'll be over soon," He says, almost gently, "go-,"

"To sleep," I finish with him. The words set off what feels like a bomb in my head, but nothing comes through. The endorphins flood my systems, but I fight them.

He pauses, knife still pressing into my cheek, "What did you say?"

"Go to sleep," I repeat and turn my head to look at him. The knife cuts a thin line down my face even without pressure behind it. there isn't any pressure anymore because the man seems to be recoiling in shock.

I see black eyes, white skin, a white hoodie, and ropey scars. Then he's gone in a burst of maniac energy, disappearing before I get a better look.

I just stand there, stunned for a minute or so. I regain my senses, blink twice and gather up my bag again. The broken beer bottle I leave where it is, and I set the unopened one on a rock in plain view from the tree line. I don't think I'll need alcohol to relax, not after that.

I don't think he's gone far. I hope he comes back soon. I must be insane, wanting to see someone that threatened me with a knife, but I never kidded myself that I was normal.

I consider the implications of his actions as I walk back down the hill. I decide I'm okay with murderers.

I'm awakened at 1:00 AM by Janey screaming at the top of her lungs. I'm out of bed in a second and down the ladder in just over five more.

I'm the first one to her room, and I throw the door open to find the room in total disarray. The dresser is turned on its side, clothes thrown everywhere. Toys spill out of the closet and have been hurled across the room.

Even as I enter a stuffed dog flies at me. I catch it with reflexes I didn't know I possessed. The inner mechanisms make me wince and the toy makes a squeaky bark not unlike Kip. If I hadn't caught it my nose would be bleeding.

I throw the toy aside and rush to Janey. She's in tears, body convulsing with sobs. As I gather her into my arms, I feel that she's peed herself, but I can't bring myself to care.

I just stand there, rocking Janey back and forth slowly. I hear Kaylee run up and I turn around to face her. Her pajamas make her look like a different person.

"Janey?!" She says, and then seeing me, "Lea?!" in a more accusatory manner.

I blink at her, Janey still sobbing into my shoulder. I recognize it as fear that's making the girl cry.

"Lea," Kaylee says again, "what are you doing?"

I ignore her, "what was it, Janey, can you tell me?" I ask the girl.

Kaylee hisses, but Janey says, "Laughing Jack. Laughing Jack did it," and dissolves into tears again.

I feel anger rise in me, hot as fire, but I press it down. "Hush now; you're okay."

"Laughing Jack nonsense," Kaylee says. She's grumpy at her rude awakening now that the crisis is over."

_It's not nonsense; it's my fault_. I just look pointedly around the room. It goes right past Kaylee and into the hallway.

"Laughing Jack?" Minerva says from behind Kaylee. She looks into the room. Her face turns chalk-white.

I crouch to gather a change of clothes for Janey off the floor. I carry the girl out of the room.

"Janey," Kaylee says sharply, "did you wet the bed?

The girl bursts out into fresh sobs, this time of shame, and I give the woman a look. Not good or bad, but just blank. She seems to shrink down a size.

"What happened to your face?" Minerva asks me.

"Poe must have scratched me," I say, brushing the sensitive cut with my fingertips.

"Oh," She trails off.

"Okay, Janey, time to stop crying," I set the girl down. "Do get changed," I hand her the pajamas I picked up.

"No," Janey buries her face in my stomach, hugging my legs.

I pat her head, "It'll be okay, Janey, deep breaths. I'm sure Minerva will go with you."

Minerva takes her cue and pulls Janey to the bathroom.

As soon as they're gone Kaylee seizes me by the shoulders, "What did you do?!"

"I ran down when I heard screaming," I shrug her hands off me. My mind is back on the hill, on gleaming steel and white skin. I shiver.

"You didn't," Kaylee gestures around the room,"

"No," I say. I sigh; this is too much for one night. "You heard her; it wasn't me."

"An imaginary friend threw everything around?"

I shrug, "I don't know how these things work."

"What things?"

I bite my tongue, realizing I've said too much. I sigh, "Look; I'm tired. Could I please just go to bed?"

She releases her hold on my arms, still looking at me like I might bite her.

I turn and walk down the hall, pull myself up the ladder to my room. Once there I sit on the bed, upright, facing the wall. I stay that way, motionless but seething with anger, until I hear the closet door sliding shut.

I turn around and stare at the door. After several seconds I say, "I get it, alright? Just don't use me as motivation. If these things happen together like this I'll spend the rest of my life in prison."

Of course there's no reply.

I roll onto my side, still in my clothes, and thinking, making plans.

Janey crawls into bed with me a few minutes later.

"Lea," She says in a whisper. Her body is small and warm behind me.

` "What is it?" I ask.

"Will Laughing Jack hurt me?"

I sigh, "No, Janey, not as long as I'm here."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes,"

"Really sure?"

I sit up and look at her, "You know what scares clowns worse than kids?"

"What?"

` "Me," I say with all the conviction I can muster.

Janey giggles. She stretches and settles in to sleep. I don't bother asking if she should go to her mother's room.

I'm not lying; the thing she calls Laughing Jack is afraid of me, afraid enough to entrust me with the marionette signifying his demons.

I gaze up at Isaac, hanging above my bed, and smile.

* * *

**AN:** You know who's an asshole? Snuffbomb. Know who's not one? Laughing Jack. PSA over.


	25. Chapter 25: Slender

**AN:** Well I'm back. Sorry about that little hiatus. Things happen. Jeff is a stubborn bastard. You guys get it.

* * *

**Reviews: **

**SuperKassu**: Well I'm glad someone's happy. Jeff is a bit… overrated in my eyes, but he's sort of a classic and that's reason enough to like him.

**xxJadeyCakesxx:** Sorry about that, but you're spot on about the questions thing. Yes, and yes are the answers, though the second one isn't quite right.

**Anonymous(Guest):** I'm here, don't worry!

* * *

[12] Cattle

Feb 6, 9:00 AM EST

25\. Slender

The new base is much like the old one; all concrete and sharp angles. It's a bit more run-down, but the Proxies will soon remedy that, just as they have already remedied the stink of sewage.

Natasha is glad to be here and disappeared as soon as I let her which was immediately. She's off to find friends, I suppose, and to complain about me.

I'm counting the minutes until I can go back and resume my waiting. Maybe I can leave Natasha here; she's happier.

They still use the same chair for this, in all of its uncomfortableness. I curse myself for not taking the opportunity to get rid of it when I had the chance.

I think about Lea pacing circles around me and her fingers as they slip the needle into my skin. Even her teasing about my sensitivity to blood loss seems sweet now in retrospect.

The Proxy who performs the procedure walks into the room. They're straight-backed, stiff, and shaking slightly with nerves. I can't see the face behind their, but I can imagine it.

I feel a pang of sympathy; it must be terrifying to be put in this situation. I must appear very alien, white-skinned and faceless as I am.

"Hello," I say to them.

The proxy jumps, but says, "hello sir," In a shaking voice. They're male.

"Have you done this before?" I ask.

"Yes, sir, a couple of times,"

"Then don't look so scared."

He blinks, but seems to blanch further.

"Here," I push up the sleeve on my right arm, exposing the pin-point scar on the inside of my elbow. It's the result of the repeated blood-drawings.

He steps forward, taking the needle in his hand. "They were very accurate."

I don't reply, thinking of the trail of Lea's fingers, so careful about the position of the needle.

As always the pain of the metal sliding into my flesh makes me wince, The muscles in my arm tense and red blood oozes around the base of the needle. Lea always wiped it away, but this man flinches and fixes the needle in place with a panicked rapidity.

I shiver at the loss of physical contact. A feeling much like a static charge runs through my body. This does not bode well.

He backs off a good five yards, standing with his back to a wall. I can sense him shaking with fear.

I watch my blood slowly filling up the plastic bag with my hand resting in my left hand.

"What do they use it for?" I ask.

The Proxy jumps, "Sir?"

"The blood. What do they use it for?"

"You don't know?"

"No," I say. I did know; my blood was the main ingredient in Lea's medicine. Now there's nothing to prove where it goes.

"The pills," He says and pulls out a bottle of the objects, "and for research in treating diseases. Sammy, my boyfriend-," His neck turns red, but I turn my head slightly; a gesture to continue, "he had pneumonia last year. They gave him some and it fixed him right up."

I feel sick, and not because of the blood loss. That's why this place exists; that's why the Proxies exist. We're too valuable to let slip away.

We're cattle, and this is how they milk us.

"Biogenetic research," the Proxy continues, "curing cancer, all that kind of stuff."

I take a breath; I can break something later. Right now I need to stay in control. I just hope their tests give good results.

"Not a complete waste then," I say.

"No sir," I detect a smile in his voice.

Natasha slams the door on her way into the room. I only need to glance at her to tell something is wrong.

"Let's go," She says.

The Proxy turns to stare at her. I look down at my arm with its needle draining my blood into a plastic bag. Natasha seems to notice too and I see her neck flush slightly.

"Whatever," She mutters, folding her arms.

The Proxy coughs slightly, as is disguising a laugh. He turns back to look at me.

"You're Undesignated?"

"Yes."

He just nods, looking back at Natasha.

I check the level of blood in the bag and make a beckoning gesture. The Proxy steps forward and removes the needle from my arm. I see Natasha flinch as blood oozes out of the incision.

All of the man's movements are controlled and calm now. When the gauze is in place I pull my shirt sleeve down again. I'm feeling dizzy from the blood loss, but there's not a lot I can do about it now. I need something to eat.

The Proxy leaves the room and I rest my head in one hand, not daring to stand up.

"What's wrong?" I ask Natasha.

"Who said there was something wrong?"

"You did,"

"I did not."

I don't say anything, riding out a dizzy spell. The woman takes it as silent prompting.

"My friends," She blurts, "are saying I'm full-of-myself and inconsiderate and ungrateful."

I nod, but think to myself that they've been slow to catch on.

"They called me a whore,"

I look up, watching her body shiver with indignation.

"As if it's my fault," She spits, "that I'm stuck with you."

"If you didn't want the job you shouldn't have shown up." I shake my head, waiting for the nausea to go away. I feel my left hand flex by itself, reaching for something that's not there.

She snorts, "Guess what; the same friends dragged me along."

"Then just stay here. I don't care."

"Really?"

"Yes."

She brightens for a few seconds, but then her shoulders slump, "Too late. There's no reason to stay here anymore."

"You could try saying sorry."

"Oh; fuck you."

I don't respond to the outburst. She hates me, but she's stuck with me. The situation is too familiar for comfort.

"Let's just go back now so I can mope in my room."

"One minute," I say, still unsteady. "Do you know what they use it for?"

"What?"

"The blood,"

"Ya; research, the pills, that kind of stuff,"

"I didn't,"

"They don't tell you?"

I shake my head. I feel sick, and it's not just from the blood loss.

Natasha is starting to catch the unwell vibe. She shifts nervously.

"Are you okay?" She asks, the repulsion in her voice not making me feel any better.

"Fine," I say and stand up. The room contorts for a second, but I keep my balance and reach out to Natasha with one tentacle. She shudders at the touch, but it's feather-light and lasts only a moment.

I sink down into a chair again, nausea rolling inside me. I need something to eat.

The smell of cooking comes to mind, feeling like a blow. How long has it been since I ate something?

"What?" Natasha asks, and then with a kind of glee says, "are you afraid of needles?"

"No," How can anyone like getting a piece of metal jammed inside them? "Fear" implies that there are people who enjoy needles.

"My god; you are," She says, the wicked smile clear in her voice.

I feel a prickle of irritation, "If you must know; I get dizzy when they take blood. It's not something I can control."

"Oh," She says, "then I can do whatever I want without you getting mad?"

"You can get me something to eat," I say, "and then go do whatever you like."

"Food?" She sounds shocked.

"Yes; food,"

"I figured you never ate, or couldn't."

I look down at myself; I am thin. I can see the hollow of my stomach and the sharp angles of my rib cage and pelvis. I have a guilty flash of Lea commenting on my weight gain, a smile on her face. She hated that I was so thin. She seemed to be the only one who thought it might be unhealthy, and she knew it made me feel weak. I should be eating more.

"Okay, okay. I'm going," Natasha turn on her heel and leaves the room.

I rest my head in both hands and try not to think about throwing up. Can I? I don't know, but I don't want to find out.

When someone returns with food it's Mitch, not Natasha. He sets bread and a bottle of juice on the table within my reach. He turns his back to me. I can tell it causes him distress to do so, but I'm not comfortable eating while being watched. In fact I don't even reach for the food, not while he's in the room.

"Thank you," I tell Mitch.

"No problem. She doesn't know what she's doing."

I don't reply that he doesn't really know either.

"It can't be easy for you," Mitch goes on.

"It's not," I say.

"I miss her too,"

"I don't want to talk about it." I say.

"Of course. I apologize." He walks out of the room.

I catch a flash of red hair as Natasha stalks away.

I reach for the food now, wishing that I had something sweet instead of this. The bottle is full of orange juice. I'm not fond of it, but I swallow it anyway and wait for the sickness to go away.

I wish Natasha had stayed at the new base.


	26. Chapter 26: Lea

**AN:** Another chapter tomorrow. It's short though. It's really short. Like 600 words max.

* * *

**Review:**

**SuperKassu: **Ya… um… *shakes Natasha's character* It's not supposed to do that. I think it's broken. Thanks for the compliment though. The characters just do that on their own for me. I'm not sure about other writers.

* * *

[12] New (old) Friends pt. 2

6 February, 11:07 PM

26\. Lea

By the time I get back to the place it's almost later than it was the first time. I had a harder time sneaking out tonight.

Everything is quiet, unnaturally quiet. There isn't even a stirring in the trees. It feels like the whole world is holding its breath, shuddering in fear, like this is forbidden.

My heart is pounding with excitement for reasons I don't know. Common sense tells me it's stupid to be here, especially with what I hope to do. It's also stupid to lie about where I got the cut on my cheek, but I've been doing that all day. You get one mysterious cut and suddenly everyone wants to talk to you. I found I dislike the attention.

I sit down on a rock, not really sitting but leaning my weight against it. The chunk of granite is cold against my back but not uncomfortable. The chill in the air is another matter.

I turn my head, trying to catch any slight noise. There's nothing.

I notice the bottle of beer is gone, and I spot the empty bottle, smashed into a tree. The dark glass glitters with an amber light. I notice a few drops of dark liquid on the ground nearby and I feel my throat tense as I imagine the blood dripping down white skin. It's half-exciting and half-disgusting.

I reach down shaking fingers and remove the two bottles from my bag. I set one on the rock next to mine. The tension is starting to build in my chest, fear and uncertainty twisting up on themselves and forming heavy weights.

I can't decide if I'm afraid or excited.

I twist the cap on my bottle. No foam comes up this time, and I swallow a mouthful. I don't like it, and I find myself wishing I'd brought wine instead. The beer makes my stomach bubble unpleasantly.

I wait, listening, but there's nothing. I sigh; maybe he's gone. For whatever reason that thought makes my eyes sting and my chest tighten. It, whatever "it" was, was so close, I squeeze the bottle hard, nearly going white-knuckled. I missed my chance.

Then there's a slight stirring, barely a rustle. I pause, fear spiking through me. My first thought is, irrationally, that Neil is here, the second that Minerva followed me.

I catch a flash of white and feel my heartbeat slowing down. Fight or flight is still panging through me, but I'll take this over Neil any day.

My chance isn't gone, not yet.

He steps around the rock, never quite in my sight, but never quite out of it either. I close my eyes, half-expecting to feel a knife kiss the skin of my neck, but nothing happens. I'm tuned into the sound of movement, brush of fabric, breathing, the smell of cigarettes and alcohol that clings to him like a living thing.

I raise the bottle to my mouth again, take a mouthful of beer. I hear the distinct sound of the bottle cap being twisted next to me.

_To failing English_ I think, an ironic smile pulling at my lips.

"Hey," I say. My arms are crossed to stop my hands from shaking.

There's a long second before he says, "Hello." His voice is rough around the edges, not deep exactly, but low. Again I have the distinct impression I've heard it before.

I smile to myself, look up at the stars. The empty spot inside me screams as I do so. I take a breath and keep smiling.

"Sorry about your face," He says, surprising me.

I brush my fingers over the cut in the soft muscle of my cheek. "I told them the cat got me."

"Did I say I meant the scratch?" The tone is unmistakable; he's trying to make a joke.

I turn my head to stare at him. I take in black eyes, white skin, the mane of tangled black hair, and scar-smiled stretching almost ear to ear.

"You're one to talk," I say, looking back forward.

"Why are you here?" He asks.

I point past him, down the hill, "I live down there," and then, "well, sort of."

"Sort of?"

"They're not my real family. Why are you here?"

"Because. Where's your real family?"

"I don't know. Because why?"

He doesn't reply for a few seconds, and I start to think he's going to walk away, but he says, "You don't know where your family is?"

"I don't know _who_ my family is," I say with a bitter half-laugh. Suddenly the reality of the situation hits me and I feel tears start to form in my eyes. I wipe one hand roughly over my face.

He makes the same bitter half-laugh noise I just did, as if laughing at some irony. I turn my head and watch as, in one go, he drains half the bottle of beer.

He blinks at me and lowers the bottle, "what?"

"Why threaten me with a knife?"

"You really have no idea who I am, do you?"

"No. Should I?"

"No," He sounds almost relieved.

"Well, who are you?"

"Does it matter?"

"I'm thinking of you as 'him' so a name would be nice,"

I see the flicker of a smile on his face, apart from the scars permanently present there, "Jeffery," He says.

"Jeff," I say, because it feels right, "I'm Lea."

He closes his eyes, as if overwhelmed by despair, and nods. He looks like he's about to start crying, and all I want to do is reach out and trace the path of those scars.

Some part of me is repulsed, perhaps the sane part, but I also think he's beautiful, in a way; all twisted up.

I wish I knew who he really was.

"Why did you come here?" He asks.

"Because it seemed like the right thing to do," I laugh, "crazy, I know."

He tosses his empty bottle at a nearby tree. It looks like a careless motion, but on impact the bottle explodes into a shower of tiny amber fragments.

I see the inside of his wrist, blood still drying on the skin. This time I close my eyes to stop myself from breaking down. I feel somehow betrayed.

"Impressive," I say, because he's obviously waiting for me to say something.

"It doesn't take much practice."

I open my eyes again. He's looking at me, slightly confused. "I have amnesia," I say.

"I figured."

I shrug, smiling. He doesn't ask any questions. I take a drink, squinting at the flavor. Jeff snatches the bottle out of my hand and overturns it so the contents spill onto the ground.

"What'd you do that for?"

"You obviously don't drink."

"I never will if you keep taking my drinks."

"Trust me; you won't like being drunk." He's digging in his pockets for something. I watch him take out a lighter and a box of cigarettes and light one. There's something about the way he shifts away from the flame that catches my attention. There's something familiar in that motion.

I pull out the phone in my back pocket, the one I don't know the password to, and check the time. Has a half hour really gone by?

"I'd better go," I say, standing up.

Jeff looks up at me, exhales a cloud of smoke, and says, "Already?"

"I nod, not happy either, "I can't just stay here."

"You can't just stay down there either," He points the glowing end of his cigarette towards the house.

I know what he means. "I don't want to move," I explain, "someone will be looking at me."

He looks down and nods, then reaches out his right hand towards me, palm out.

I extend my own hand and press it to his palm, for only a moment, and I feel the feverish heat. A happy, calm feeling spreads through me, and on impulse I say, "Next week?"

Jeff blinks once, "Okay."

"Don't disappear on me."

"Okay."

I don't say goodbye, I don't think I can. I turn away and trace my steps back down the hill to Minerva's house, savoring the rush of delight that I know I shouldn't be feeling.


	27. Chapter 27: Jeff

**AN:** My mistake; it's 800 words, not 600.

* * *

[13] Searches

6 February, 11:45 pm

27\. Jeff

Sometimes he misses the voices in his head. As impossible as it was to think clearly, or even about one thing for longer than a minute, choices were always easy. The voices made up his mind for him, and usually the answers were simple; stab it, drink it, don't touch it. These days, the only voice ready to keep him company is his own, and more often than not it only talks in circles.

Jeff is pacing around the clearing, thinking and wishing he didn't have to. He can still feel Lea's hand against his, the same hand that's now holding a burner phone. He really shouldn't be thinking about this; it should be an easy decision. All he needs to do is call Jack and everything will go back to normal. He kind of wants it to be normal, but he kind of doesn't.

He's nothing if not selfish, and now his selfishness is starting to get to him. Surely it wouldn't be bad to wait, just for a few weeks, a month.

Jeff pulls out his knife in one motion. He pushes up his sleeve and lets the steel rest against his skin, on the latticework of scars already there. He looks at it there, the only tool he'll ever need to do his job, turned against its master. He can feel the whispers starting in the back of his head, and one slight movement of the blade will drive them away, he knows. He can't bring himself to make the cut. Most of the time it's too easy, but now his hands refuse to move. He looks at the marks on his arm and shakes his sleeve back into place. He can feel the voices receding back out of his mind.

He supposes he has Smile to thank for that. The creature wanted him to come here, kept driving him to do it, and now Jeff knows why. Lea's here, and Smile knew it, so he sent Jeff.

Give her back or take her away? He doesn't remember anything, that's obvious, so should he give her back at all? If he could forget everything he would. Freeing himself from that burden would be such a relief. Jeff knows Jack would say the same. If they had the chance Lea did they wouldn't turn it down. If he going to take that away from her, from himself?

There was something about her, how she is now without all the memories, that's exposed. He feels oddly enchanted. He can still feel her hand against his, soft and unscarred.

Lea wasn't afraid of Jeff, not in the slightest. He's not sure if it's because she hasn't read the story yet or if it's because she hasn't read the story yet or if she's retained some faint memory of their friendship. Maybe she still remembers. Part of him hopes she does, but another part thinks it's best if she does not.

Does she want to remember?

Jeff stamps out his cigarette on an exposed rock, taking care not to start a fire, not this close to Lea. He doesn't want her caught in the blaze. He knows how much that hurts.

He presses his hands together, mind still reeling. Is this why Jack was so intent on finding her? Jack and his plans, his high-and-mighty ideas about right and wrong. Jeff is sure he knew about this whatever-it-is. Whatever Lea's done to him. Jeff's not going to be able to stop thinking about her.

One week; can he last one week? It doesn't matter; he has to, and he cannot lose it when Lea is around; he'll kill her. He's already almost done that once and thinking about it is odd. He wants to kill her, but he can't stand the thought.

Jeff realizes that he's barely breathing. He balls his hands into fists, but his nails are too short to dig into his hands.

All he has to do is call Jack. The being will come and Lea will remember and Jeff can go back to sharing her attention. Lea's attention is usually fractured, divided evenly yes, but still split, and it was nice to be the receiver of all that attention.

A month can't hurt. What's a month really? One month with her all to himself, at least when he can reach her. One month and that's it, and then he'll give her back. He'll do it at the end of this month, or the next, or maybe the one after that.

Jeff turns and starts walking down the hill. Of course he'll have to be careful not to lose it when she's around, but he can control himself, and being around Lea makes it much easier.


	28. Chapter 28: Eyeless Jack

**AN: The gentlemen with the white eyes belong to Carsonomel and Clockwork belongs to, well, whoever wrote it.** Sorry I turned your character into a bitch, though she kind of was one already. Carsonomel, I don't think I need to apologize. Your guys are just assholes by nature.

If I wrote a Minecraft thing, would you guys read it? Let me know if you would.

Oh; and if sexual innuendos make you uncomfortable, just know you're going to squirm a bit.

* * *

**Reviews:**

**xxJadeyCakesxx: **Ben's attention span is so short you can pick it between your middle thumb and forefinger. As for the rest of it; all will be made clear soon.

**SuperKassu: **Thank you. I'm sure you'll like it.

* * *

[13] Searches

February 7, 3:00 AM

28\. Eyeless Jack

Jack is tapping his glass against the wood or the bar, watching the redish liquid within slosh back and forth. He raises the glass and swallows the contents in on gulp.

There will be no description of the flavor or contents of this drink here. Jack enjoys it, and let's leave it at that. It's the only thing he can drink besides plain water, and he can only get it in a few places.

Jack looks around, hoping against hope that he won't see The Butcher. He doesn't, but he won't linger very long.

The bar is an old place, but for the sake of appearances it's been well-maintained. Plenty of humans com here, but lots of non-humans too, and by looking around Jack can pick out several.

On group of men is watching him with dislike. Jack knows them, though not by name. He's fended off their kind before, usually while protecting someone. Jeff included, though the Killer hates to admit it.

Jack makes a signal to the bartender. The man comes over, looking uncomfortable and nervous. He knows what kind of people come here, especially at this time of day.

"Another," Jack says. Even to his own ears his voice sounds hoarse. It's been a long time since he talked to someone.

The bartender nods and takes his glass. Jack wonders if he'll eventually refuse to give him more to drink. It doesn't intoxicate him; his body won't tolerate drugs, and he is paying.

Jack taps the map in front of him. He's divided it up into grid squares, though he knows it's useless. Another human lost is just as meaningless as losing a drop of water from the sea. It was back to regular life.

Really what this means is he needs a new map.

Someone whistles at the other end of the bar. Jack looks up and his stomach sinks. He turns away. Maybe it wasn't directed at him.

But it was, of course, and the next second Jack finds himself being hugged from behind. "Hey sweetheart," She says, "what's wrong, feeling sad?"

Jack shrugs her off, "Natalie-,"

"Clockword," She corrects.

"Natalie," He repeats, "what do you want?"

"Whatever you want, Jacky," She stresses his name in retaliation for Jack calling her by her given name.

Jack sighs; it's his fault. He encouraged her. He wishes he hadn't now, but what's past is past, and if was worth it to just forget for a little while. He pretended that none of his happened, that she was—he stops thinking about it. It won't help.

"I'm thinking," Jack says, "I want quiet."

Clockwork pouts, pushing out her lower lip and making big eyes. Well, eye. The other one is long gone. "You never have an appetite anymore."

She looks older, Jack thinks. He knows why; Clockwork is human, entirely human. She never changed, and now the opportunity was lost. Her lifespan is that is a human, so Jack and the others distance themselves.

"So what?" Jack shrugs. The bartender brings his drink and Jack produces a few more bills.

"It's not healthy," Clockwork says, "you're still young."

Jack snorts. He doesn't say that he can sense Ana in the back of his head whenever he starts to think about sexual intercourse. Sex with Clockwork just isn't worth it anymore.

"The killer isn't nearly so uptight," Clockwork pouts. She plunks down on the stool beside his.

"Jeff," Jack stresses his name, "is trying to shake something off."

"Well he's damn good at it," She sighs, "Jacky…"

"No," He takes a sip of the drink and finds it properly made. "Try them; they'll oblige you," He inclines his head towards the group of men."

Clockwork sweeps on lock of reddish-brown hair out of her eyes, "Tienen los ojos blancos," She says, her accent stiff and comical.

"So?" Jack looks at them, "It doesn't matter."

"Says you," She leans forward slightly, "what's with the map?"

Jack starts folding it up, covering the section with the grid search.

"Aw, Jacky, is that what's bothering you?" She simper is back in her voice.

"Do not push me," Jack growls. He's beginning to get irritated.

"What are you looking for?" She leans on one elbow, facing him.

"A Proxy,"

"On, not you too; everyone is getting Proxies these days."

Jack snorts, "They just want easy meals. No; an actual Proxy. She's missing."

"You mean like a Proxy for…" She trails off, unable to say the words.

"Yes," Jack pulls out his photograph of Lea. It's a polaroid, the only type of photography that works around Slendermen, but it's a good shot. He shows it to clockwork, 'I don't suppose you've seen her anywhere?"

For just one moment he thinks she recognizes Lea, but then her eye clouds with confusion and she shakes her head, "No."

Jack looks at Clockwork for the first time. Her one eye blinks. The other eyelid has been removed, a messy business, to avoid the clock set into the socket. It long ago ceased to tick, but her flesh has grown around it, holding it in place. The signs of stress are everywhere on her. Jack pities her in a way.

He sighs and puts the photograph back into his pocket, "She's gone now. It's been a few months."

"How long?"

"Seven months in five days."

Clockwork slams her palm down on the counter, "You love her. I need details. Now."

Jack groans. He finishes the rest of his drink in one go, making the woman scrunch her nose. "No," He says, signaling the bartender over. "Another."

"Haven't you had enough?" The man asks. He's a bit braver now that Clockwork is nearby.

Jack smiles, "It doesn't have any liquor in it."

"Doesn't mean you're not drunk,"

"All that stuff is does it make it easier not to tear your liver out."

The bartender takes the glass.

"Details," Clockwork repeats as soon as he's out of earshot.

"There are no details. She's a friend."

"Like I'm a _friend_?" She asks. Her arms are crossed, pushing up her breasts slightly. Jack barely glances at her.

"No," He says. _You're a distraction, _He thinks, _Lea is a cure._

"Jacky," She leans forward, into his chest, "Why won't you play anymore?"

Jack pushes her away, hands on her shoulders, "Get a hold of your-self. Think about what you're doing."

She kisses him, of course. Jack bites his own tongue to stop himself taking a chunk out of her lip. He knows she's not sane, not changed, he gets that. It doesn't mean he has to put up with this.

Jack shoves Clockwork away from him with such force that both their stools rock dangerously. She doesn't correct fast enough and goes over, her head meeting the countertop with a sickening crack.

Only about half of the people in the bar look at them, and those that do glance away almost immediately. Many of them have been in Jack's situation, whether with Clockwork or not, and know what he's doing.

The woman picks herself up, rubbing her had. "Jacky," She croons.

Jack can see the blood matting her hair, staining it bright cherry-red. He swallows hard and hopes the bartender hurries with that drink.

"Enough Natalie."

"But, Jack," She sounds woozy and trails off, swaying slightly.

Jack feels pity rise in his throat.

"Hey, mister," Jack looks around. It's one of the men from the table. He looks slightly younger than the others. That means nothing for them; he could just be a good hunter.

"Yes?" Jack says.

"Seems to me that's no way to treat a lady." The man says.

The bartender scurries over with Jack's drink. He lingers there, sensing trouble brewing.

Jack pays again and says, "thanks," to the server. He notices with some satisfaction that is voice is easy and fluid now.

"Did you hear me, mister," the man says.

"I'm not a 'mister.'"

This seems to flummox him and Jack turns his attention back to Clockwork.

"You okay, Natalie? I didn't mean to smash your head in."

The woman nods, her eyes are unfocused and dilated.

"Here," Jack's digging for bandages. He starts wrapping her head, covering her eyes. He turns her around with a light touch on the shoulder. "Maybe next time you won't jump on someone."

She mutters something that sound like, "sorry."

"You should see a real doctor about this," Jack says, "and try to avoid visual stimulation."

She nods slightly.

Jack turns back to the man, flicks his now blood-stained fingers at him, and says "shoo."

The man bristles, "Listen here, mister, I don't know who you think you are, but nobody 'shoos' me."

Jack grins at him, exposing gleaming, sharp teeth, "Looking for a fight?"

"Are you playing games, Mister?"

"Stop it with the 'mister' thing." Jack picks up his drink and takes a sip. As soon as the liquid touches his tongue his throat spasms and his stomach convulses. He spits the drink back into the cup, coughing up globs of congealed, rusty blood into a napkin.

When he recovers he looks at the bartender, "What did you do to this?"

The man looks taken aback by the reaction, "Mixed in a little vodka."

Jack picks his money back up off the bar, still gagging. "You want a fight you've got one," He says to the man.

"I'm not trying to make trouble."

"Sure you aren't. Want to take this out back?"

The stranger's face is already contorting, his irises growing pale, "Yes."

Jack slings his backpack onto one shoulder, gives Clockwork a pat on the arm, and leads the way to the back door. Behind the building is an alley reserved just for this purpose. It gets a fair bit of work.

Jack sets down his bag. He already has a scalpel in one hand.

"Take off the glasses," The man says. His hands are relaxed, but his fingers are shaking slightly.

Jack walks to him, stops about five feet away. It's a pathetically small distance, but that's how he wants it. "You sure?" He asks.

"Yes,"

Jack slides off his dark sunglasses, tucking them into his jacket pocket.

The man's eyes are all white now, ready to suck the life right out of Jack, and his face is the shrunken, twisted thing that hides beneath the human façade. The look on his contorted face changes to confusion as he looks into the pure-black of Jack's eyes.

Jack feels the power in the air around him, flexing, but the man can't reach him.

Then he's on the man in a blur of motion. The scalpel in his hand stays by his side as he slams the man back against the wall of the building.

"Why can't I-," He starts, then starts fighting back, driving punches into Jack's stomach. The being doesn't flinch, but he's thrown back by the sheer force.

The white-eyed man comes at him, with a right-handed punch, and Jack ducks low, sweeps his feet out from under him. His head meets the pavement and his eyes unfocus. The fight is over right there. Once the man is off his feet he has no chance.

Jack straddles his chest, pinning the man's arms under his knees. He needn't have worried. The man has a concussion heading his way.

The scalpel comes out. The man sees it, but doesn't react.

Jack pulls one of his eyelids up, examining the white orb. He takes a moment to replace his glasses, then leans forward.

The blade of the scalpel slides into the soft tissue surrounding the man's eyeball. The metal scrapes across bone, and the vibration makes Jack grin. The screaming starts, but no one comes running, not yet.

Jack pops the man's eye out of its socket with a neat twist of the blade. He cuts through the optic cord and pops the eyeball into his mouth.

"They're a bit like grapes," He comments, the eyeball tucked into his cheek. It bursts between his teeth, flooding Jack's mouth with savory, salty fluids. Jack chews for several seconds before swallowing. He bands back over the man for the second eye.

The screaming starts up again, and this time the man is yelling words, "My eyes! My eyes!" There's the pounding of footsteps and the rest of the group bursts out of the bar, accompanied by the bartender.

Jack cuts through the second optic nerve, and stands up. The man rolls onto hands and knees, heaving up the contents of his stomach. Blood is streaming from his eye sockets.

Jack kicks him, sending him face-first into the pool of vomit. He holds up the eyeball between two fingers so that they can see it. He pops it into his mouth, chews slowly, swallows.

He walks towards the men, licking the blood off his hands now. They part for him, stepping out of the way with no small amount of fear. Jack hears the bartender ask in a whisper who he is, and one of the men reply, "A no-good son-of-a-bitch with no concept of respect."

And immediately someone in the main bar speaks up that "that's Eyeless Jack, and he's seen things you can't begin to imagine."

Jack doesn't stop walking. He steps out of the bar, pulling out the map again. He has a grid-search to get back to.


	29. Chapter 29: Lea

**AN:** The "E" key is sticky on my keyboard, so if you see "Jeff" Spelled "Jff" that's why.

Expect spotty updates. I'll do my best to keep up, but I've got AP classes to worry about now. The sooner I quit my job the better.

* * *

**Reviews:**

Superkassu: Jack isn't in here again until Chapter 40 something unfortunately. Jack has reserves of patience that the rest of us aren't capable of imagining.

* * *

[14] Chocolate

13 February, 11:01 PM

29: Lea

The second Jeff appears I speak, even though he's partially behind me and not totally in view.

"Do you want this?" I ask, holding out the box.

"What is it?" Comes his rough voice, already familiar to me.

"Chocolate,"

He steps up and takes it. One glance takes in the heart-shape of the cardboard. "This is cute."

I laugh as the word in his voice. "It's not a gift; I'm getting rid of it."

"I figured."

"And suddenly you know everything about me?"

"You'd be surprised," He's already opened the box and is selecting one of the chocolates.

"I doubt it," I say, and the second I say it I realize it's true. I expect him to know every little detail about me.

Jeff makes a face, stretching the scars, "These aren't very good."

I smile, "I don't think they were expensive."

He tries to hand the box back to me.

I hold up my hand, stopping him, "I don't like chocolate."

Jeff frowns, "What?"

"I know; the world is ending."

But you're always buying…" He says, then understanding dawns in his eyes and he bites his cheek.

I watch him, but Jeff has moved on to another chocolate and doesn't look like he's going to say anything else.

"What's the occasion?" He asks.

"Valentine's day,"

"Already?" He looks alarmed. Has he lost track of the date?

"Well, tomorrow is. The school celebrated today."

"So who gave you the chocolates?"

"Neil," I say, "I suppose he thinks he's being sweet."

Jeff sets the box down quickly.

"And Minerva thought it was funny to send me a singing telegram," I say, as if I haven't noticed, "humiliation during fourth period is my favorite." I toss a rock at a tree, missing by a few inches.

Jeff shifts in place, "Who's Neil?"

"A guy who won't leave me the hell alone."

That seems to give him pause for a few seconds before he says, "A boyfriend?"

"I guess so. I barely know him."

Jeff shifts away from me as if repulsed by some unseen force. It's the same way I've seen other people shy away at the mention of a boyfriend.

"I barely know him," I repeat.

"Okay, okay." He must see the tension in my shoulders because he settles back into his original position.

This is the second conversation we've had and we're already to the awkward silence stage. Why does this have to be so hard? I don't feel like it would be right to ask him a personal question. He gives off the wrong vibe.

"And Minerva is?" He asks, filling the silence.

"I'm staying with her family." I launch into a description of the family, excluding names. It takes a long time, but Jeff doesn't stir once or seem the least bit troubled. I decide not to mention the thing in my closet.

"Kaylee wants to adopt me," I finish, "but I've been fending her off for the time being."

Finally Jeff speaks, "You have a family out there somewhere."

"That's my main argument for not getting adopted."

"Haven't you tried to find them?"

I shake my head, "It sounds weird, but I'm afraid to. I think there are things I don't want to know."

He doesn't respond to that, but I get the sense he agrees. "Will you let her adopt you if no one shows up?"

"No," I say, "I'm leaving in July, whether or not a miracle occurs."

Jeff doesn't respond to that, but he starts systematically destroying the lid of the chocolate box. I watch it turn to so much cardboard confetti in his hands.

"Besides," I say, "no one will come."

He looks up at me. His hands twitch slightly, like he wants to grab something. The right one disappears into the pocket of his sweatshirt. "I wouldn't count on it either." He means "people don't make a habit of showing up."

I shrug, no longer willing to discuss this topic. "How long do you plan on sticking around?"

He lets the cardboard shredding fall from his left hand in a snow of shiny red and brown, and that hand one joins his right in his pocket. "I'm not sure. I can't stay here all the time."

I nod, wishing it wasn't true. He's all I have right now, and I feel as if my survival depends on his presence.

"I'm in the little bookstore most days after school," I say. Maybe he'll show up.

"You go to school?!" Jeff sounds genuinely alarmed.

I burst out laughing, "How old do you think I am?"

Jeff ignores the question, "How's that going for you?"

"Shittily" I say. I find myself wishing I'd brought alcohol. I like being buzzed, even if Jeff insists that actually being drunk is another matter.

Jeff nods, looks at the moon and seems to gauge its position, "I'd better get going."

"What? Do you turn into a serving maid at midnight?"

He grins, "You wish."

I get to my feet as well. He's left the remaining ten or so chocolates on the rock, but I don't take them. "Sort of yes. It would make you more interesting."

"I'm already too interesting." He reaches out one hand to me, palm out, and I press my palm to his for a second. I feel the calluses beneath my fingers, and for a moment I think I can feel these rough hands ruffling my hair.

"Next week," He says.

"Okay."

I watch Jeff walk away, noting the relief I feel in my chest. If one conversation makes me feel this god I can't imagine what longer would do. It unnerves me for some reason.

I start picking my way back down to Minerva's house.

* * *

**AN:** Don't imagine Jeff the Killer in a tiny little maid's outfit. Don't do it. ;)


	30. Chapter 30: Slender

**AN:** Well… Fanfiction net is being a meanie. School is going to kill me, and I have to work nine hours tomorrow. FML.

* * *

**Reviews:**

**JTLETSGETIT:** A formal apology for not answering last week. Fanfiction net wasn't sending me any notifications for a few days, so I missed it.

**SuperKassu:** Enjoy your nightmares ;) Oh; and somebody draw some **fanart **of that. Jeff the Killer in a tiny little maid outfit. Pretty please?

* * *

[15] Axes

19 February. 10:15 PM

30\. Slender

Sometimes I have problems killing my victims, but not now. The painful light of their existence is burning too hot for pity.

The little family in the cabin again. The woman appears to be a small sun to me, a ball of pure light. I can barely look at her.

The problem with this situation is that she's never alone. If it's not her father, then it's her son, and if it's not him then it's her husband. It's become less a case of waiting for her to be isolated than debating who to kill along with her.

I've decided that, since I have to do something, I should attack when she and her son are together. The chance has arrived.

I pause for a moment, watching them there. The boy, tired from my draining affects, is crying. His mother, not feeling very good either, is beginning to lose patience. She's saying things I can't hear, but sympathy is quickly turning to anger. She slams her hand down on the table, making the boy flinch away and cry harder.

His mother raises a hand to slap him.

And that's when I move. I'm on them in an instant. There's one frozen moment when the woman turns her head to look at me. The ball of light in my mind takes over.

All conscious thought vanishes.

Then, with the touch of their minds, sound rushes in, a huge invisible force. The boy's crying, the woman's breathing, the television in the next room dissolving into static. The screaming starts.

I have her around the neck in a second, lifting, popping her wrist out of the socket with a careless jerk of one limb. The boy around the stomach, no bodily harm done to him yet.

"Arthur!" She's screaming, as if somehow he can help her. She chokes off with a rasping choke as I crush her windpipe.

I spear her through the chest, slam her back against the wall. When she slides to the floor a bloody smear is left behind. She's still clinging to life, the desperation of the dying pulling at her. I help her along by sucking out her remaining energy.

The boy is still crying, but now it's with fear and confusion rather than misery. He's also screaming at the top of his lungs and writhing in my grip. I adjust my hold on him, turning him over and over. I know I need to kill him, but I don't really want to, not for a few more minutes.

The boy's grandfather enters the room, breathing heavily from the strain of rushing. As soon as he sees me he takes a step back.

"Arthur!" He yells, "Arthur, bring the gun!"

I don't feel any remorse as I snap his neck. He was old, his years were few. What I do feel is a hot spike of envy, that he has the ability to die.

The boy succeeds in squirming out of my grip and falls to the floor. I hear the sharp sound as the bone in his arm snaps. I snatch him back up again without thinking, humming to him. He's still struggling, but his arm is crooked at an odd angle and the tears on his face are of pain.

"Be still," I say, turning him so his hair hangs towards the floor. The words stop his crying for a moment, but then it resumes full-force. He screams as loud as he can, not any words, but an animal cry for help.

I muffle the cry, gagging him. The tentacle squirms down his windpipe to tear his lungs to shreds. No visible damage to the body.

I'm so absorbed in the task I don't notice the man sneaking up behind me. Then something slams into my side. Steel bites deep, metal sliding into flesh, rupturing veins tendons and veins. Pain makes me stagger, and my grip on the boy tightens.

His insides liquefy, and a mixture of stomach acid and guts oozes out of his mouth as he's squeezed. A gush of viscous red blood paints the floor.

I flick the now lifeless body aside. It lands by its mother.

I turn to see what's hurt me. the man is tugging on the handle of the axe, trying to pull the blade out of my side. It's not coming. Every pull sends jolts of pain through me.

He looks up at me, lets go of the handle and backs away.

With a resigned trepidation I reach down, wrapping one tentacle around the handle of the axe. I pull it out, blood spilling forth in a crimson wave. It's agony, and it only makes me lose more control. The metal wedge comes out of me with a sucking squelch.

The man, seemingly hypnotized by the sight, hasn't moved an inch, and now realizes his mistake. It's too late.

I fling the axe away, shattering a window; I have no use for weapons.

I spear him through the chest, throw his shuddering body against a wall, hear his ribs snap.

I pause, reason drifting back to me. They're dead; they're all dead. Good.

But I'm hurt. Blood loss is making me dizzy and sick. I can't stay here. I have to go somewhere else.

I flicker into my gray-scape world, but unbalance and fall, catch myself a few inches from the ground.

I dare not go anywhere else, not even to the apartment. I can feel the trance-state coming on and I don't know how long it will last.

Maybe it won't be as deep as my last trance was. Then I might be able to get energy still. Then I might be able to dream.

I don't know if anyone can or will help me at this point, but I don't really care.

I sit up with an effort, put my head on my knees, and wait for the sleep to take over.

Before I drift off something odd happens. I feel soft fingers, not actually there, but projected, a light touch. A tear-strained voice assuring me I'll be okay. And then I slide down into the trance, my mind reaching back towards the contact.


	31. Chapter 31: Lea

**Reviews:**

**xxJadeyCakesxx: **Too Much? Well, everything has ups and downs.

**SuperKassu:** Maybe this chapter will change that. Not for the better though.

* * *

[15] Axes

February 19, 10:20 PM

Chapter 31: Lea

The only thing I can compare the feeling to is burning myself on the stove, and that doesn't do it justice.

The agony that I wake up to is absolute, all-consuming. It sends me rolling off the bed, and my head meets the floor with a sharp crack. My feet are tangled in the sheet, still halfway on the bed, and I can't get them free.

My left side is on fire and my hands are shaking, unable to reach it through the sheet. Strangely, don't feel the need to scream. Instead I'm whimpering in pain.

I hear the trap door open, bang against the floor as something leaves the room. I grit my teeth; useless son-of-a-bitch.

I try to squirm out of the sheet. My eyes are smarting with tears of pain and I want to see what's causing the problem.

The sheet slides off the bed, still tangled around my lower body. I shut my eyes and bite my cheek so hard I taste blood.

I dig my fingers into the sheet, tearing a tiny hole in the fabric and pulling it apart. The sound of the threads parting company seems terribly faint, and my heartbeat is thudding loud in my ears. My whimpered breaths are coming hard.

I sit up, trying not to cry out, and rip the sheet down to my knees. I yank my shirt up and…nothing. I touch my skin, but not matter how hard I press there's no change in the pain. I can feel a phantom wetness, recognize the warmth of blood.

The tears in my eyes are of confusion now, and sadness. I don't know why, but this is bad.

I realize my right hand is frantically spasming, grasping convulsively for something I can't reach. The ring on my index finger is steaming, and the skin beneath is it blistering from the heat. Compared to my side it doesn't seem like much, but I can still feel it.

I wrap a piece of the sheet around my left hand and slide the ring off my finger. Even through the fabric the heat is nearly unbearable. The tiny engravings appear red-hot, and now I can see it's not a chain, but a series of circles with Xs drawn through them.

I drop the metal onto the floor, feeling very odd. My mind feels free-floating.

A wave of irrepressible grief wells up in me and I sob once. I cover my mouth with a hand. It's important I don't cry; I don't know why.

I gag on the pain, manage to keep my food down.

"It's okay," I whisper between my fingers, "It's going to be okay. You're going to be alright."

And, far off, from the same place as the pain, there's a reply. It's such a primal response, such an exposed and honest thing, that I flinch. My heartbeat speeds up even more, thudding even louder, and I reach out one hand, as if to touch.

Something flickers out, sinking into sleep. The pain in my side recedes slightly, and I let the tears come, thick and fast.

"Lea?" Minerva asks. She has her head through the trap door.

I look at her, still in a kind of shock. I must look very strange like this.

"What's going on?" Kaylee calls from below.

That bastard woke up the whole house.

"Something's wrong with Lea," Minerva climbs the rest of the way into the room.

"I have to go," I say between my fingers.

Minerva steps back slightly, "What?"

"I have to go," I repeat, "now."

"Well then go!" She points to the bathroom.

I shake my head, "I need to go away." I get to my feet, shaking slightly. My right hand rests on my left side, where the pain is coming from.

Kaylee climbs up. She looks at me, at the tangled mess of sheets, and says, "Is something wrong with your side?"

I shake my head, dumping the contents of my backpack onto the bed, "It's not my side."

"Then why is your hand there?" She asks.

"It's not _my_ side," I say. My side thuds with pain.

"Does it hurt less when you press on it?"

I turn on her with a snarl, "I got my appendix out when I was seven. I'm fine."

They both draw away.

I start going through the dresser. "One change of clothes, an extra bra, my wallet, my journal, my pocket knife," I say under my breath, "A book, my cash, the pills—,"

"Lea," Minerva says, "Do you remember…?"

I pause, "No. No I don't." I pull on a shirt, throwing aside my pajamas and stepping into a pair of jeans.

"Then how do you know you got your appendix out?"

I pause again, unmoving for a second. Then I snap out of it, "I don't know." I turn to face her, my right hand shaking at my side. Clear liquid oozes from the burn on my index finger.

"Your hand," She says, stepping forward, then "Where's your ring?"

I glance towards it, lying on the floor. I feel myself shiver with fear, not of the ring, but of the thing in my head. That empty space, and the creeping feeling that I am anything but alone. It's oddly comforting.

Minerva picks up the tiny golden object. It doesn't burn her.

"Here," She holds it out to me.

"No," I say, and start to pack my bag again.

"Lea," Minerva insists.

"No," I reach back and knock it out of her hand. The ring bounces away, down the ladder. I stand up, "I need to leave."

'Why?!"

"Something is wrong."

"You're talking crazy; nothing is wrong!"

I sigh, shove _Huckleberry Fin_ into my backpack, and turn on my heel. I don't be able to give two weeks' notice at work. Oh well.

Something hits me squarely in the back of the head halfway down the stairs. I hiss and look down. It's a red candy.

"I will break the doll," I say, with a calmness that surprises me.

Something moves in the shadows.

Minerva catches up, "Lea, where are you going to go? Do you have any idea?"

"No, but I can't stay here."

"Why not?" She almost shouts.

"I need to find something-someone."

"Take the ring back, please," She begs.

I shake my head.

"Please; it has to be important."

Janey stumbles out of the dark hallway. Poe is miraculously coiling around her neck like a scarf. He meows at me as they approach.

I feel myself crack a little, but I take a breath. I know I need to leave.

"Where are you going?" Janey asks me. Big brown eyes stare into me.

I crouch down, take her hands in mine, "Away. It's better this way, believe me," I try to explain the creeping knowledge, the certainty that if I stay here bad things will happen.

Then I feel the metal object drop from her hand into mine. I flinch, and feel a rush of overwhelming fear sweep into my mind. The pain in my side disappears with a jolt, and my heartbeat thuds to a halt.

I look at the ring in my palm, numbness dulling the shock of betrayal. It glitters, self-satisfied.

What am I doing? Minerva is right; I am talking crazy. There's nowhere to go.

"I'm sorry," I say, "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"It's okay." Minerva says, voice trembling.

Poe slides off of Janey and coils around my ankles. I resist the urge to kick him down the stairs.

I sigh and start up the stairs again. I need to put all my books in my bag again.


	32. Chapter 32: Lea

**AN:** If the updates are spotty from here on this is why: Essays, projects for a thing called "Giving Voice" (that's not the religious organization), working on a play, being a member of academic team, etc.

I promise that this will eventually be finished.

* * *

**Reviews:**

**Superkassu: **Well…Lea is human, and Slender is not. He's not supposed to be relateable.

**xxJadeyCakesxx: **Panic attacks are something I'm reasonably familiar with. Unfortunately.

* * *

[16] Rediscovered

5 March, 3:00PM

32\. Lea

I hear the bell chime of the door as if from very far away. I glance up automatically from twisting the ring on my finger. It's Minerva. I look down again, pick up my pencil and start on a math problem.

There's a long time where neither of us speak. She pokes around a nearby shelf. I check out the single other customer in the store, and he leaves.

Finally Minerva approaches me. "Lea," She says, "look: I know you don't want to talk about it-,"

"Then don't ask." I don't raise my head.

"This isn't about that—"

"Then don't make it seem that way."

"It's about Janey," She snaps.

I glance up, "What about her?"

Minerva knows she has me now. I see her relax. "It's this Laughing Jack thing."

I look down again, "Is that it?"

"'Is that it?'" She scrambles for words, "I don't think you understand who—what—Laughing Jack is."

I look at her, then stand straight. At full height I'm about half an inch taller than she is, but that's all I need. "I don't know what you're talking about, Minerva, but you're wasting my time."

To my surprise she rises to the challenge. "You cannot run from this forever," She says, one hand flat against the counter, "you have to tell me what's going on."

I twist the ring on my forefinger, feeling it rub on the new scar from the burn. My vision is starting to go red at the edges. My pocket knife in my back pocket is heavier than it should be. I slip my hand behind me to find it, barely thinking about it.

There's a tap at the store window. I look behind me, half-angry at the interruption. When I see who it is all the tension goes out of me.

Jeff, seeing he's caught my attention, makes a little jerking motion with his head and turns away.

Minerva has gone very pale. Her face is nearly as white as Jeff's.

I heave a sigh and step out from behind the counter. Minerva makes a movement as if to grab my arm on the way past, but she doesn't.

"Hey," I say as the door closes behind me. I see immediately that something is wrong. His eyes are a little too bright, his hair a bit too tangled. The usual stream of constant movement has dried up. "What's up?" I ask.

"Hey Lea," He forces a smile, as if reassuring me, "I need a few bucks. For a bus ticket."

I reach back for the roll of cash, the only money I have on my person. "Would you do me a favor too?"

He looks nervous, "What?"

I smile; in the daylight he looks like a while other person, "Take me with you."

He shakes his head.

"Not far," I say, "just out of sight of Minerva."

"Who?"

I tilt my head towards the girl who's still in the store. "Please?"

"No," He keeps talking, "it's too dangerous to be around right now. I just need the cash."

I sigh, "How much?"

"Ten bucks?"

I hold out the first ten dollar bill I find and he takes it.

"Thanks," He says. He must see the look on my face because he says, "I'll explain tomorrow, okay?"

"I just don't want to go back in there," I say.

"We all have to do things we don't want to."

I just glare at him.

Jeff raises one hand, barely, and I reach out and touch my palm to his. "Tomorrow," He promises. I nod.

I turn around and head back into the store. Minerva looks like she's been slapped.

"Who was that?" She says.

"A friend," I smirk, "jealous?"

"What?"

"I'm just pointing out that Jeff's not bad looking. That and the fact that you look like you've been struck dumb—,"

"Did you say 'Jeff?'" She says sharply.

Oops.

I shrug, "I said it. It's his name."

"Well," She half-laughs, "this explains a lot."

"What?"

"When do you get off?"

I glance at the clock, "About fifteen minutes ago."

Minerva blinks at me, "Now you're really weird."

"Overtime pay is not to be underestimated."

She ignores that, "I need to show you something."

I sigh, feeling complacent again, and start to walk out from behind the counter again, "Are you going to tell me what it is?"

She shakes her head, "Come on; let's go home."

"Fine."

And she refuses to say anything else about it.

* * *

Back at the house she says, "Come on," And goes to the computer.

I stop a few feet away, "What is this?"

"How did you meet him?" She asks.

I smile slightly, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

"No thanks."

Minerva turns to look at me, "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"Do you know anything about him."

"He drinks, he smokes, and he doesn't live around here. He's an all-around bad influence." And he's the first person who's given a damn about me.

"Well I could have told you that," She steps away from the computer, "search 'Jeffery Woods."

"Jeffery or Jeffrey?"

"Doesn't matter,"

I sigh, but step up and type in the words. I blink at the results page, uncomprehending. I change the search to "Jeff the Killer" without being asked.

"There's an audio version, if you want to hear it," Minerva says.

I nod and see she's already prepared a playlist in another window, perhaps for just this occasion. She must have been planning this for quite a while.

I sit down in the chair and scroll down the playlist. There are two stories with "Jeff the Killer" in their titles. I swallow nervously; I'm not sure about this. It feels like spying.

I can still feel Jeff's palm, rough against mine, and hear him say, "next week." That mantra is the only thing that's kept me going for a month now. What will I do if this is something unforgivable?

"Laughing Jack," is there too. There's a smattering of other names: Ben Drowned, Eyeless Jack, the Rake, Ticci Toby, Clockwork, that I probably won't listen to. How can I; it's almost stalking. I need to take a step back and not rush into this.

I'll just listen to Jeff's bits, and maybe Laughing Jack's. That's what I need right now.

I stand up, "I'll listen in my room. Lend me your iPad?"

"Oh sure," Minerva retrieves the device.

"Thank you," I say, and start up the stairs.

I set the iPad down on the bed and go to the trapdoor. I push the bedside table on top of it—after letting Poe in—and find my headphones.

The cat tries to bite them and I smack him sharply across the nose. I'm a lot less shy about hitting him now.

I plug the headphones and lay back on the bed to listen. I close my eyes and feel a slight smile start on my lips as the first chords of music start to play.

Half an hour later I blink my eyes open, thinking hard. The nest video is already starting to play, and I know I'll have to listen to all of it too.

The words don't ring true, not quite, but it's close. This is Jeffery; I'd recognize him anywhere.

I raise one hand, the one that's not fondling Poe's ears, and rub my eyes.

I understand now. He leaves every week, fulfills the need to kill, then returns. Earlier today was Jeff on the verge of losing control, Jeff rushing to get somewhere he can do his work without drawing too much attention.

I'm not afraid, not even unnerved. Pity and empathy are filling me up so nothing else can get through. If I didn't know him it would be different.

As time wears on I'm introduced to Laughing Jack. This is not the playful creature of Janey's drawings. This is dark, lurking, ready to tear someone apart. I suck on a candy while I listen, and I listen for something important, for the reason.

I get it nearly an hour later. Tears are in my eyes, pity in my heart again. I reach up towards the Isaac Marionette sitting on the window sill. I have the music box in the closet. I am what's keeping him in check, subdued. Perhaps it's not something I can stop myself doing. Perhaps I'm a remedy for them both, Laughing Jack and Jeff.

I close my eyes, and when I open them again there's a new pile of candies beside me.

"I won't tell," I say. I feel the tension leave the air.

It's pretty late when I finally pry myself away from the words, so late I missed dinner entirely.

My stomach growls and I grimace. I scoop up the sleeping cat and set him on my shoulder. He blinks at me through half-closed eyes.

Minerva is downstairs, waiting.

"Well?" She says.

I shrug, "She probably saw a picture of Laughing Jack on your computer. I wouldn't worry."

"I didn't think of that," She mumbles.

I smile, hand her the iPad, "You want it to be real too badly."

"Maybe. That's a weird conclusion for you to make."

I shake my head and lie, "it's not Jeff the Killer. These are just stories."

Minerva just sighs.

"I'll ask next time I see him."

"And he'll deny it because admitting to killing your entire family is crazy."

I shrug, how can I explain that I don't really need to ask, that I already know? "We'll see. He's lucid at least. No schizophrenia."

"That's true."

I wave over my shoulder as I turn away, "I'm going to get to sleep. I'll see you tomorrow.

"Lea," She says suddenly, "the doll."

I don't respond. There is no way to explain the doll. Let her make what she will of my silence.

"Oh," She says. Maybe she realized that the clown and I are under each other's thumbs.

Back in my room I lay down without bothering to put on pajamas, and stare at the ceiling. I twist the ring on my finger, thinking.

I'll need vodka. There's a bottle downstairs. That should be enough to broach the subject without seeming suspicious.

I pull the ring partly off my finger just enough to break contact with the skin. I'll let fate decide if it comes the rest of the way off.

I roll over and fall asleep.


	33. Chapter 33: Slender

**AN:** Finally I get to give you guys some good-old fluffiness! :D I'm having fun, are you having fun? No? Well that's because I'm writing chapter 56 and you guys are reading 33. Yay!

* * *

**Review:**

**Superkassu:** I'm sorry to hear about your aunt…ya there's not much else I can say about that.

* * *

[16] Rediscovered

6 March, time unknown

33\. Slender

I dream that I am in a dungeon. The cell is a tiny space, barely large enough to contain a hole to use the bathroom and a cot to lay on. I cannot reach either of these luxuries.

When it rains water muddy with human and animal feces pours through the tiny windows above me. The straw on the floor is rotting and all sorts of insects crawl in and out of it. Some of them approach my body for warmth or food, but none have laid eggs on me yet. At least I don't think so. It's this threat that periodically forces me to get to my feet, as painful a process as it is.

I'm used to the smell of the place; it only bothered me the first couple days. What still bothers me is the pain. It radiates through my entire body from my wrists, lower back, and legs. The metal rings around my wrists are attached to a plate in the wall above my head, I can't remove them. Sitting digs them deep into the flesh of my wrists and moving reopens the scabs there, making trails of blood trickle down my arms. Standing makes me put more weight on the chains and being on my feet makes me realize how much effort it takes to keep myself upright. My muscles are too sore to stand it.

This is not my body. It's not my tall faceless self. This is different. Hair flops into my face. I can feel the blink of eyelids, the twitch of lips. I'm so much smaller, but not small enough for the single-piece rag I'm wearing to fit properly. Every second I spend in this shape is agony. Suffering in a human body has no limits.

I'm long out of tears to express the hurt. I estimate that I've been here two weeks. It's hard to keep track with the time I spend asleep or passed out.

They bring me dirty water and moldy bread. I refuse to touch either. This is a dream brought on by the trance state. I cannot die here, do not get hungry or thirsty or need to use the bathroom. What I can feel is pain, and of that there are endless amounts.

The thing I've come to depend on, besides the pain, is the face appearing in the window every day at roughly the same time. And despite the pain I find myself looking for it.

It's a girl's face, I can tell by the glimpses of her body I get. Her hair is a blonde so pale it's almost white and her eyes are pale gray. Her skin is clear, untouched by marks of any kind, and her face is round and full. I've spent enough time studying this face to know it by heart. It's the only solace I get in this place.

I'm looking for this face when I hear the noise from the door of the cell. I turn to look at it, but no one is there. I keep watching, half-hoping that it's someone come to end the torment and delirious with the thought of some form of comfort.

As it grows louder I realize that the noise is footsteps. Someone is walking along the outside corridor, moving towards my cell. Their footsteps are slow; they must be looking into each door that they pass.

The footsteps pause outside my cell. I glance towards the window, but no one is there yet. When I look back my heartbeat nearly stops.

I struggle against my bonds, throwing my weight forward. The cuffs around my wrists sink into raw skin and blood runs down my arms.

It can't be Lea, can it? It can't really be her. This is a dram; it's just a product of my psyche. I was thinking about comfort, and my subconscious sends me Lea.

I stop struggling and close my eyes—that's a weird feeling—and disconnect. This isn't going to help me.

I hear the metal-on-metal screech of the door opening. I open my eyes and peer around. Lea, or the thing my mind created that looks like Lea, has pushed the door open slightly. They don't have it locked. Why would they? I can hardly move.

Despite myself I say, "Lea?" She doesn't respond, and I realize she can't hear me; I can't think to her. I don't know how to physically speak, and so I'm rendered mute.

I try to reach forward again, but the chains hold my arms fast. I can't move more than a few inches.

"Easy," Lea says. She steps the rest of the way into the room, ignoring the rotting straw and the insects that scuttle in it.

I stop struggling and look at her, "You are a figment or my imagination. Go away."

She can't hear me. "What's wrong?"

I give up; I'm too vulnerable to her. I can't say no, not trapped in this body in this place. I jangle the chain on my right arm.

Lea steps forward again, looking at the cuff. I see the empathy on her face, and it makes me feel sick. I want her to reach out and touch me, just on the arm where the metal is cutting into my skin. Then I'll be able to tell whether she's real or not.

She reaches out and pauses a fraction of an inch away from me. "Is it bad?"

I nod.

"Can you stand up?"

I shake my head. My legs are too tired from standing upright for hours.

Lea looks at me. She has that look on her ace she gets when she's thinking hard. She gets to her feet and leaves. I, again, struggle forward after her, and again I fail. She's only a thing my mind created; a hallucination. She can't help me. She won't come back. I'm making this worse for myself.

I look at the window. The face is looking back at me, all pale hair and smooth skin. I start studying it, willing to stare forever if I can just forget.

The scraping of wood on stone brings me back. Lea, pulling a chair, appears in the doorway. She's going red with the strain. I stare at her; what is she doing?

Panting, Lea turns to look at me, "I'll help you; come on.

What?

"Stand up," She steps over to me and crouches down. Seeing the uncertainty in my face she says, "It's okay; I won't let you fall."

I look into her blue eyes and feel a rush of trust. I brace myself against the wall, bend my legs beneath me—it hurts to move my knees—and push upwards. I know immediately that I don't have the strength, but Lea catches me around the chest and pulls me the rest of the way up.

I'm startled enough to grab her, but I lean against the wall a second later.

"Good?" Lea asks.

I nod.

"Okay," She releases me, leaving dirt stains on her hands, and grabs the chair.

All I have to do is stay standing for a few seconds, and this I manage. As soon as she's placed the chair within my reach I collapse into it.

Lea laughs, not at me but at my obvious relief. I smile at the sound. "Better?" She reaches out and touches my arm.

I nod. My arms can fall farther now, and my fingers are beginning to tingle as blood returns to them. Lea's hand is cool and solid, and her touch it light. As impossible as it is, she seems to be real.

"This could be worse," She says as she examines my wrist, "it's not very deep."

I just watch her. It's been a long time since I did that. She's focused on my pain and ignores my gaze.

She moves the cuff down slightly, looking at the abrasions. "Ouch."

I make a noise in my throat, half-cough and half-sob.

Lea pulls her hands away, "Sorry."

I shake my head frantically, sandy hair flopping into my eyes. I glance towards the window, at the face peering in. I feel a thrill of fear. She looks furious, and in the anger the beauty vanishes.

Lea follows my gaze and flinches at the sight. I see her throat work as she swallows.

"I'm going to get you out of here," She says. She reaches back blindly and touches my cheek.

The contact shocks me out of my daze. I flinch back, then lean forward into it.

Lea, confused now, runs one hand through my hair. "Okay," She says, "I'll be right back."

She leaves again.

I can still feel her hands in my hair. No wonder she enjoyed that so much when I did that.

I let my head fall forward, resting. This is the most comfortable I've been in weeks and I want to enjoy it.

"Hey," I hear, "are you asleep?"

I raise my head and look at Lea. In her hand she has, to my surprise, a key. Then again; this is a dream. It was probably just lying on a table.

"I brought you something," She smiles.

Even though I can see the key in her hand, my first thought is chocolate. I shake myself; of course there's no chocolate. I need to snap out of it.

"This might hurt a little," Lea says, coming forward.

I nod to show I understand.

She stretches up and starts fiddling with the cuff on my right wrist.

I notice she's wearing a long white dress, simply cut. It accentuates her hops slightly, and even now I feel a surge of protectiveness when I see it. She doesn't seem to notice or care, and I relax. If Lea's comfortable with it then I don't mind.

"There," She says. The cuff on my right wrist pops off.

My shoulder screams as I lower my arm. The tendons are unwilling to relax, and it's only the weight of my bone that makes them.

The second cuff is off much quicker. Lea takes my hand, turning it to examine the abrasions.

"Not bad at all," She says and goes to drop my hand.

I wrap my arms around her and bury my face in her stomach. I want to hold her, just for a minute, before this vision shatters.

Lea yelps. "Okay. I was not expecting that."

I can feel her breathing.

She pats my head awkwardly, "Could you let got now."

I release her, not looking her in the face. I glance up to the window, but nothing is there.

"No, it's alright," Lea says, reading my sheepishness properly, "if you didn't look like Neil it might be easier."

I look at her again, trying to portray the question, "who?"

"My boyfriend," Lea says, "sort of."

I shrug. I could care less that she has boyfriends. She dated one or two of the younger proxies when she was still at base. It never lasted long, but you can't blame her for not trying.

"I don't really like him," Lea says, "Neil, I mean."

Just don't hurt her. I don't care what you do otherwise, just don't get hurt.

"Do you think you can walk?" She asks.

I shake my head. Even if I could there's nowhere to go. I hold out my arms again and just wait. Lea steps into them a moment later and I lean my head against her side. She runs a hand through my dirty hair.

"Could you try?" She asks, "Please?"

I shake my head.

"I know it's nice, but I don't want you to stay here."

Another shake.

"I'm going to wake up soon and I don't want you to stay here," She says, exasperated, "let's go somewhere else."

Wake up? Is she asleep too?

I nod.

The relief that crosses her face is immeasurable. "Okay, up you get."

I push myself up and Lea catches me around the waist. She pulls one arm around her shoulder. Even now I'm taller than her so she doesn't have to stoop. With her supporting me I feel much more secure. Lea pulls me out of the cell and we start down the hallway.

"Are you out there too, somewhere, asleep?" She asks.

I nod.

"Good." She pauses, but the words are dragger out of her, "it's nice to know someone else is as weird as I am. I mean, I don't remember anything, but there must be something pretty bad about me, right?"

I shake my head.

"Well thanks for the encouragement, but you'll forgive me if I don't totally believe you."

I stop walking, and Lea turns to face me, frowning. I reach up and take her face in both hands, hoping that conveys enough. Then I drop my hands, unsteady on my feet, and she ducks back under my arm.

"If you say so," She mutters, not looking at me.

I look away, guilt and shame clutching at my heart. I'm such a fool. Then I stop dead, right in front of a doorway.

There's a huge curved axe against the back wall of the room. It's blade gleams in the low light. I can feel it, actually feel it, biting into my neck. That's why I'm here; they're going to kill me. They're going to kill me.

"Come on," Lea says, suddenly frantic, "we have to go."

I can't move. I'm not capable of it anymore.

"Please," She says, and I hear the desperation in her voice.

I start to look at her, tearing my eyes away from the curved metal, but she's not there anymore and I'm leaning on empty space.

I stumble sideways, falling, but before I even hit the ground the world goes black.

* * *

Far off, in a bedroom tucked into an attic, a girl jolts awake as a cat jumps onto her stomach. There are tears in her eyes, but no fear on her face, and the ring on her finger slips back from the tip of her index finger and back into its regular place.

She slams her fist against the wall, making the puppet hanging halfway up jitter and bounce.

* * *

I wake up, raise my head from my knees, and look around. Everything is gray. I'm where I'm supposed to be again.

I can't believe how stupid I've been. Look at me; moping around. Did I ever think about what Lea must be going through? Did I ever even pause to consider it?

And what is Lea doing? She's not shutting down and being sorry for herself. She's moving on. She keeps on living.

Proxy-girl, I will never be as strong as you.

I pull my shirt up to check the axe wound. It's healed now, but it's healed all wrong. I feel my stomach clench at the sight.

The muscle has healed over, but half of the gash was wide open when it did. The skin goes down into the crevice then up the other side. The front half looks a bit better. There are still internal problems, but not nearly as bad.

I stand up, feeling the new, uncomfortable flex of muscles on that side. It's not debilitating, and not the last bit painful. Thank goodness.

I need to get it together, stop being so depressed. Enough is enough. If Lea can go on so can I.


	34. Chapter 34: Lea

**AN:** I have an unbelievable amount of stuff going on. PSAT this week, Writing this, writing Survival, writing an original novel, writing what is essentially a play for another project, Odyssey of the mind, and now I am somehow a part of the drama club's fall performance. I don't know what's going on anymore.

* * *

**Review:**

**SuperKassu: ***Nervous laughter*

* * *

[16] Rediscovered

March 6, 11:05 PM

34\. Lea

I can't stop replaying the dream in my head. It was a good dream; a dream that made my stomach flutter. There was something comforting about the boy's presence.

I shiver in the cold air, shake myself back to reality. I need to pay attention. This has been a crazy week, but there's still more to do.

I look up at the moon. It's a thin crescent, almost out of existence. For once the empty space inside of me doesn't feel quite so empty.

I hear the familiar stirring of bushes that signals Jeff's arrival. He's a bit late today, but I don't think he slept well last night. If he went somewhere he couldn't have gotten back too long ago.

He sinks down against a nearby tree. I can't help but glance at him, looking for blood. He looks really, really tired.

Jeff has one hand in his hair like he's keeping it out of his eyes. He's looking at me with black eyes accented by purple circles of exhaustion.

I gather my courage and reach behind me.

"Vodka?" I ask, offering him the bottle.

His hand drops from his head and he just stares at me for a second.

"Who told you?" He asks. He doesn't sound angry, a little scared actually.

"Told me what?"

"Told you about—," He makes a hand gesture, sweeping everything together, "—me."

"About you?"

Jeff looks straight at me, "I hate vodka."

I give up on the act**. **If he's going to kill me, he can kill me. I don't care at this point.

"Minerva did," I say, and put down the bottle.

"I figured."

"Now I know why you almost stabbed me, so that's a benefit."

He winces, "Sorry about that."

"No harm done."

"Why aren't there police all over this place?" He asks. Then he yawns, covering his mouth with one hand. The scars on his face stretch and stand out white against his already pale skin.

I struggle to put the feeling into words, but settle on another answer, "They wouldn't believe me anyway."

"True." Jeff closes his eyes, "it was a close call yesterday."

"I know."

"Next time don't push me."

I gulp, "Sorry about that."

He doesn't reply to that. "I can usually keep it under control."

"I can tell." I look up again. He's staring back at me. A prickle goes up my spine, travels over my whole body. The pause lasts a few seconds, but I feel like he already understands that I know. I know these things already.

I take a breath, "I have to ask."

"About Jane?"

I nod.

"Dead," He says, and I hear a tremor in his voice, "She wasn't like me: she died."

"So…this isn't a deal with the devil?"

Jeff snorts, "No. This is a lot worse than that."

"I won't ask."

"I couldn't tell you if you did."

I pause a moment before asking, "Are there others?"

"You didn't read any?"

"No," I lie, "It's not my business."

He chuckles, as if I've made a joke, "Go back and read them. Some aren't real, but some will save your life."

I groan, "Fantastic. What have I gotten myself into?"

"Nothing good. I should have ;eft you alone."

I'm suddenly on my feet hands balled into fists, "No."

Jeff holds up his hands, palms out, "Easy."

I relax a little, lean back against the rock. He won't get worked up, not around me.

Jeff gets to his feet, stretches over his head, "I'm tired."

I shrug, "I'm in a hose full of kids. You're not sleeping there."

"I know." He looks at me, "It's very important you understand something."

"What?"

"I don't want to be this way."

I look away. How has he been hiding that pain in his eyes so well? "I know."

"And I miss them all the time."

I give in and reach out for his hand. Jeff lets me take it, but he remains tense.

"So the drinking and smoking?" I say.

"Control tactics."

"I'm okay with that. I understand that. What I don't like is this," I turn his hand palm up and push up his sleeve to show the scars. There's still blood drying on his skin.

Jeff's eyes flick away, "It helps."

I sigh, "I wish you didn't hurt yourself." I drop his hand.

He blinks at me, "That's it?"

"What?"

"You're not going to tell me to stop?"

"No I understand that too."

"Then why the hell did we get into a fight-," He bites his own tongue.

I stare at him, but no other information arrives, so I go on. "I've talked myself out of it a few times. I know that if I start I won't be able to stop."

"I did for a while. Last year."

"Do you think you could try again," I blink at him. I know this will work, "For me?"

Jeff nods, "I could try."

I feel a smile spread across my face, a genuine one. I see a flicker of something on his face, and then he pulls me into a hug, his hands against my back. I bury my face in his chest.

He feels warm, too warm, like he has a fever.

_This isn't the first time I've felt this. I've had someone hug me like this before._

"Next week," I say into the cloth of his jacket.

"Next week," He agrees.

I step out of the embrace, and, shivering in the cool night air, make my way back to the house.

* * *

Minerva shakes me awake roughly.

I sit up fast and punch her straight in the chest. The force knocks her back at least three feet and sends her to the floor. Minerva struggles for breath, hands clutching at her chest. I watch her from the bed; it's her fault for waking me up like that.

"What?" I say when she sits up.

"I just wanted to know if you found out—," She rubs her chest, "Jesus: you hit hard."

"He's not Jeff the Killer," I say, "I told you that."

I lay down and roll to face the wall. My face is flushed with a half-remembered embrace. I', fairly sure it's not one from Jeff.

"How do you know?"

"Leave me alone, Minerva," I snap. The read is starting to chew at the edges of my vision again.

She hesitates, but I hear her climb down the ladder a moment later. I sigh and pull the covers up over my head. I don't know why I'm covering for him, but I know it's what I should do. If I cover his back he'll cover mine.

The closet door slides open. I don't even flinch.


	35. Chapter 35: Lea

**AN: **Sorry about that. Here's the new chapter. In the future if something happens and I'm unable to post, I'll write a post on my tumblr telling everyone why.

* * *

**Reviews:**

Superkassu: You might be right. I'm not sure actually, but let's go ahead and flip that energy around for this chapter.

* * *

[17] Virgin

March 2, 10:15 PM

35\. Lea

I blame Jeff, I honestly do. This is entirely Jeff's fault. He's the one who's making me much more open, and I'm only in this situation because I'm so open to suggestions.

So I blame Jeff, because I have to in order to maintain control. I'm definitely not going to tell him this. The last thing I need is him losing it and hurting someone, and this seems like just the kind of thing that will set him off.

Neil is asleep. He passed out almost immediately. I say almost because he had time to mess with me, though not for longer than a few minutes. It felt like hours. He's got one arm around me and one leg threaded between mine.

I can still half-feel the weight of him against my body; sickeningly heavy. I'm never going to forget that sound, half-grunt and half-snarl. It was animal and hungry and everything about it made me shake with fear.

Then there was the necking. I think that's the right word for it, but I'm not 100% sure. I've imagined it; I have no problem admitting that, but I never imagined that his mouth would be so sticky, breath heavy and panting. Just thinking about it makes me feel sick. I'm going to have a bruise on my neck tomorrow can already tell. I'm going to need some way to cover it up.

I try to conjure up an image of Jeff's face, but the image won't stay in my head. I don't want to keep reliving it, but I have to.

It could have been worse: it could have lasted much longer. There isn't anything I can imagine that is worse than that.

My lower stomach is on fire as it is. I was expecting pain; I knew what was coming. I just didn't anticipate so much of it.

I reach down and touch myself. When I bring my hand back up my fingertips are stained red. I also didn't expect to bleed.

I wipe my fingers on the sheets of the bed. What have I done to myself?

I sit up, gritting my teeth against the shrieking or my sore muscles. I look down at the floor and find my clothing right where it should be.

I disentangle myself from Neil—his breath smells awful—and pull on my underwear. They're white, and so will definitely be stained, but I really don't have a choice.

The room looks as any teenage boy's should look: messy. There's a pile of dirty clothes in the corner in which I can see several pairs of underwear with questionable stains. The trash can is full of chip bags and bowls are stacked up by the desk.

You would think he would bother to clean up before bringing a girl over.

The apartment is on the second floor of a building, above a workshop below. It's pretty small, but I feel right at home here.

My hand brushes over the empty condom wrapper on the bedside table. That's another thing that would have made this worse; a lack of contraception. These things are 98% effective. I'll just have to take those odds.

I stand up and pull on the rest of my clothes. Then I step around the debris on the floor and make my way to the terrarium against the far wall.

"Hey," I say to the green snake. It raises its head and flicks its tongue at me.

"Look at you," It seems to be saying, "you've gone and made a fool of yourself."

I pop open the lid and tickle the snake's head with two fingers. Being a reptile it doesn't respond, but it does flick its tongue at me again.

I glance at the calendar beside the tank, "looks like you missed your feeding time.

It just looks at me through slit-pupiled eyes.

I leave the room and go to the kitchen. Sure enough, there's a carton of fresh eggs next to the not-so-fresh leftovers. I wrinkle my nose and grab an egg.

I set it into the tank and watch the snake unhinge its jaw and, with some difficulty, swallow the egg whole. The round bulge of the shell moves halfway down the animal, and then its muscles clench and pulverize the shell.

The snake opens its mouth and disgorges the white shell. It looks at me and flicks its tongue. I smile and pick the reptile up. It starts climbing my arm almost immediately, smooth scales sliding over my skin. I feel the sinews of its body, almost pure muscles, as it curls around my shoulders.

"I like you a lot more than I like your owner," I tell the animal.

It flicks its tongue, tasting my skin, and wraps around my neck. It settles there, like a living necklace. It probably likes my body-heat.

There was something like this before.

_Sinewy muscle curls around my wrist, twines around my fingers. I shake them off, "If you want something just say so."_

The flick of the snake's tongue knocks the daydreams out of my head. I stroke the smooth scales of the serpent's body. There's a rough spot where its skin is starting to shed.

I unloop it from around my neck and replace it in the terrarium.

Something occurs to me. I bend to look in at the snake, "Do you think that was my virginity?"

It flicks its tongue at me, perplexed.

It's a question better addressed to the Ouija board. Or the closet, but I doubt the clown knows anything.

"It probably was," I stand straight, "just my luck." I really should have held onto that.

I reach up and twist the ring on my finger, but my fingers just touch bare skin, smooth from the burn.

That's the reason why my head feels so fuzzy.

The alien thing is starting to press at the edges of my mind, fear mixes with the pain in my gut and solidifies into a semi-solid mass of nausea.

Where is that ring?

I run back to the bed, scrabble around in the sheet. It has to be here somewhere. In desperation I throw the covers back, but not too far. There's nothing.

One of Neil's hands is clamped around something. I pick it up and work his fingers apart. I don't know how he sleeps through it. H has the ring in the palm of his hand.

I pick it up and slip it onto my own finger. The walls around my mind come back up and the uncomfortable presence fades. I twist the ring. Part of me wishes I hadn't found it.

I need to get going before something bad happens. I don't bother covering Neil up again, though I do pause to look at him. His chest is smooth and unmarked, and the creamy color that comes from not being exposed to sunlight.

_Smooth muscle under my fingers, wet with blood. The cuts aren't deep, but they won't stop bleeding._

I shake my head sharply. Nausea again, and a headache. I leave the building before I succumb to the need to throw up.


	36. Chapter 36: Slender

**AN:** This chapter is short. Really short. The next one will be too. That's okay because I have things to do and I can't really focus on this right now.

That said, I am writing the rough draft of chapter 60, so I'm almost done! :D

* * *

**Reviews:**

SuperKassu: It's not slender-sickness. As for Neil… he's just a jerk.

* * *

[17] Virgin

12 March, 10:20 PM

36\. Slender

The pain in my stomach catches me off-guard. It's a harsh throbbing then, but it's not extremely painful. Not like getting cut open.

At first I'm not sure where it's coming from, but after a moment it makes sense: it's Lea's pain. Wherever she is, my Lea is feeling this. We never bothered to undo that connection between our minds, and somehow it's escaped destruction now too.

I cast about for an explanation for the pain, a reasonable source. It doesn't feel like a wound, or the cramps that she gets periodically, and those have never come through the connection before. This is something new, so what is it?

Then it clicks and I close the book in my lap with a snap. Lea's lost her virginity.

Some part of me is a little hurt, childishly so, but for the most part I'm curious. The curiosity is a balance between anger and contentedness, and I know why. If they've hurt my Lea, I am never going to forgive them. If they've given her pain I will give them a hundred times more.

I dig into the pain, rooting around. Lea's strongest emotion is pleasure, and I know what it feels like. If there's a hint of pleasure in the hurt I'll find it.

I search for a couple minutes before I admit defeat: there's only pain.

The sensation vanishes and I sigh; I hope she knows what she's doing.

"That was supposed to be mine," something inside me says, "I was supposed to get that." I squash it; that's stupid. Lea's first time wasn't mine any more than her soul or her mind was. I always figured Mitch would get up the nerve to approach her, though I preferred Jeff over the observer. Lea and the Killer are on the same wavelength.

Whoever it is, I hope they care about her. I hope they love her. She deserves that at least.

Natasha kicks the door open in her usual way. She stomps into the room and tosses a thick file onto the table.

"I am so sick and tired of-," She starts.

"Where's Mitch?" I ask.

"Pardon?" She blinks at me.

"Mitch," I pause to scan the building, "he's in his room. Bring him here. Please."

She slams the door on the way out, but she doesn't argue. Perhaps the word "please" really does work.

I feel that I should tell Mitch about this: He's fond of Lea as well, and I can trust him not to tell anyone.

Mitch enters the room hesitantly. He knows something has happened, but he doesn't know what the something is.

"Undesignated?" He says.

"Mitch," I say, "hello."

"Hello, sir."

I feel a pang of annoyance at the formal tone. "I felt something."

Mitch frowns even though his face is covered I can tell. "Felt something?"

"From Lea,"

"You mean she's-,"

"No," I cut him off, "she's not dead."

Mitch breathes a sigh of relief

"I think she's had sex with someone."

The relief vanishes, "What? Why do you think that?"

I try to make it sound less odd than it us, "The pains were in my lower stomach."

"But that doesn't mean she's—,"

"Yes," I say, "it does."

"But how do you know for sure?"

"Because I know Lea. It's not a big deal."

"Sir, you realize she's not going to be able to undo this."

"Yes," I say, annoyed.

"She can't get back her virginity. She can't give it to you anymore."

I stop and look at him. Then I laugh, which is a something Mitch hasn't heard before and makes him jump in surprise.

"Lea and I had no intention of sleeping together," I say.

"But you and she were always so close," He protests.

"Platonically so."

"What?"

"Not sexually."

"Well that's news to me," Mitch pulls out his notebook and scribbles something. "I always figured your cuddling was just foreplay."

A quick pressure on his mind lets him know how displeased I am.

"Sorry," Mitch says. His hands are shaking.

I huff, "I thought I should tell you."

"I appreciate the sentiment."

"You can go now."

Mitch half-bows, which irritates me to the point that I might just strangle him, and turns to leave. He opens the door and Natasha falls into the room. I'm suddenly very thankful she couldn't hear my side of the conversation.

Mitch steps around her with a snort of disgust. He closes the door behind himself.

Natasha picks herself up and looks at me, "Cuddling?" She says.

"Is there a problem?"

"When have you cuddled with someone?"

"I wouldn't call it cuddling."

"Excuses. When did this happen?"

I snap. "Haven't you figured out that you're a replacement?!"

Natasha goes very still, "A replacement?" The hurt in her voice is real, and I feel a savage rush of pleasure when I hear it.

"Yes."

She turns and leaves, walking stiffly.

I huff and flick the book open again: fool

* * *

**AN: **I went on a journey through my PM inbox. Wow. I suddenly have so many old insecurities that I thought I'd left behind. Great idea there. I'm intelligent I swear.


	37. Chapter 37: Jeff

**AN:** Ugh. School.

* * *

**Reviews:**

None :(

* * *

[18] Distrust

13 March, 11:15 PM

37\. Jeff

He starts getting concerned about ten minutes after he arrives. Lea has always been here before him and that he's here so long before her is worrying. Something is wrong.

Jeff never shows up to these meetings completely sober, and now the cloud of alcohol is beginning to clear fast. He's worried that he'll lose it as Lea shows up.

Lea steps out of the shadows. As soon as she sees Jeff she relaxes. The relief on her face is obvious.

"Hello," Jeff says.

"Hey," She steps over and takes her place on the rock nearby.

He's picking up on a weird vibe. Exactly what it is when doesn't know, but he doesn't ask her about it, not yet. He needs to stay in control, and anything could set him off right now.

Lea is as good at reading him as he is her. "What's wrong?" she asks.

Jeff half-grins, "I'm a little shaky."

She wrinkles her nose a little. It's an expression of confusion. "Let me see."

He sighs: back to normal then. He holds out both arms to her, fingers curled to his palms.

Lea pushes back his sleeves, and Jeff shivers at the touch. Is he sure what he's doing here is the right thing?

The girl frowns when she sees the fresh blood on his skin. She releases her hold on Jeff's wrists and takes off her jacket.

He hasn't noticed before, but it's not her black jacket. It's a light pastel blue, almost gray. It looks almost brand new. For some reason this change disturbs him.

Lea flicks our a pocket knife and cuts a seam on the inside of the jacket. She rips out a square of the lining and uses the cloth to clean the blood off his arms.

"It takes time, doesn't it?" She says, and moves her hand to Jeff's left arm.

He nods. He doesn't feel as close to going mad as he did a few minutes ago.

"You should try drawing on yourself," Lea says suddenly, "that works for me."

"It works. I just lose the markers."

She sighs and steps back, pushing the blood-soaked fabric into her pocket. Jeff pushes the sleeves of his sweatshirt back up.

He glances up at the girl. She's shrugging on her jacket again. What he sees brings him back to the brink of madness.

"What is that on your neck?" He asks. Even to his own ears his voice seems shaky.

Lea flinches, hand going to the purple bruise on her neck. "It's nothing," She says, "just a bruise. I bruise easily."

Jeff frowns; he can see what's wrong now. She's sore. She's moving with that I'm-not-comfortable air of someone who's in pain. He pauses to think about this for a minute, but his head is starting to fill with that uncontrollable noise of voices that are all his own and he can't think. He rests his face in his hands.

"Jeff?" Lea says, her voice suddenly full of fear, "are you alright?"

He feels her rest a hand on his shoulder, and he takes a breath. "Quiet!" He yells, then quieter, "Lea, keep talking."

"Okay," She says, and she launches into a ridiculously detailed description of a class she's taking at the high school.

Jeff listens to her, still breathing hard. He's used this trick before with mixed success, but this time turns out to be a winner. The voices fall silent again, mercifully silent, and Jeff raises his head.

"Thanks," He says.

"No problem," Lea removes her hand from his shoulder.

"Is that class hard for you?"

"It was, but it's getting easier."

"That's good."

"You never made it that far."

"No. I never liked math anyway."

She smiles, "It's not my favorite either."

Jeff relaxes again. It's easy to forget what he's doing here.

"Well," Lea says, "I'm going to go."

He raises his hand automatically, and she presses her soft palm against his rough one. "Next week," He says

"Next week," she repeats. She turns away and heads back down the hill.

Jeff watches her go, and he repeats to himself his own personal mantra. "Just a little longer. Just a little while longer, then I'll give her back."


	38. Chapter 38: Lea

**AN:** this is exactly 1,000 words. I feel accomplished. This is also the last short chapter for quite a while. Thanks for bearing with me.

**21.**

* * *

**Review:**

**SuperKassu: **It absolutely blows my mind that some people who read this are in college or older. *Yelling out the door* Hey, mom! Someone older than me reads my fanfiction!

* * *

[18] Distrust

18 March, 4:05 AM

38\. Lea

I wake up with an unpleasant feeling deep in my stomach. It doesn't hurt exactly, but it feels as if there's friction in the inside of my torso.

I sit up, and this proves to be a mistake. I feel my stomach clench, and I know that I'm going to vomit. I clap a hand over my mouth and leap out of bed. Somehow, gagging and coughing, I make it to the bathroom. There I lean over the toilet and cough up a mass of mucus that floats to the surface of the water in a ball of faintly yellow transparent goop.

I have just enough time to think "Was that it?" before the real thing begins and I heave the remains of last night's dinner into the porcelain bowl. After about a minute of dry heaving the spasms subside. I straighten up and flush the toilet.

Poe curls around my ankles, purring.

I feel like crap. I'm achy and sore and my stomach is making a fuss even though there isn't enough in it to fill up a thimble. What's wrong with me?

Am I pregnant? I close my eyes and try to weigh the odds. Condoms are 98% effective under ideal laboratory conditions, but the conditions were far from ideal. Two virgins-or maybe just one because I don't really know about myself—with no real idea what they're doing. It wouldn't have had to be a very big mistake, barely one at all.

I start pulling on yesterday's clothes; there is no way in hell I am letting this happen. I'm going to straighten this out right now before my maternal instincts kick in.

I creep downstairs, still pulling on my jacket. Kip snarls at me and I send him skittering under the table with a swift kick. I have no patience right now.

The night air feels good. I have to stop once to gag up bile into a bush by the road, but I make it to the store in good time. I find the aisle I want and pick up three of the little pink boxes before I realize that I didn't bring any money.

The silent cursing lasts a few seconds, and then I slide the pregnancy tests into the hole in my jacket lining I made when I tore out a piece to clean Jeff's arms. It has the added benefit of concealing the packages without a bulge.

I go into the store's bathroom and lock myself into a stall. I have to read the instructions two or three times before the words make sense. When they finally do I sigh and sit down. My hand is shaking so much I can barely hold the tab still. I shake the plastic case vigorously for at least two minutes before I think to check.

Negative.

I let out a relieved sigh, thunking my head against the wall of the stall. Thank goodness. Panic over; I'm fine, I think.

I hear the bathroom door open. It's probably an employee who saw me come in here. I stand up and flush the toilet, making my face into a picture of calm as I do. When I open the stall door it's not an employee. It's Taylor, standing at the mirror. We make eye contact in the glass and I see the surprise on her face.

"Hey," I say.

"Hello," She shoves something out of sight. I catch a flash of glass reflecting the florescent lights.

"Whiskey?" I say, "or brandy?"

"Whiskey," She says and produces the bottle.

"Here," I say, and hold out my hand."

"What?" I'll smuggle it out."

"You, really?"

I smile, "You'd be surprised."

She hands the bottle to me and I slip it in with the pregnancy tests.

"I wasn't here," I say.

"Neither was I." Taylor pushes the bathroom door open.

And, of course, there's Jeff. I sort of knew he'd be there.

He tilts his head slightly, and I interpret it as a questions.

"Fine," I say.

"If you say so," He shrugs.

"You're worse than Kaylee."

He snorts.

"Lea," Taylow says, "the cashier is looking at us weird."

Jeff and I both glance over. The tired-looking woman at the register is looking at us weird.

"We are right in front of the bathroom," Jeff says.

"Should we move?" Taylor asks.

I chew on the inside of my cheek, "Probably."

Jeff and I both turn and walk down the nearest aisle. Jeff's hand shoots out and grabs something off the shelf, shoving it into his pocket before I even see what it is.

"Out the back?" I ask, thinking about the theft detectors at the front of the store.

"Yes." Jeff darts into an Employee's Only door. I'm right behind him.

It takes a couple minutes to find a door outside, and then we have to wait for Taylor to catch up.

"You two are crazy," She pants.

"Oh yes," I say, "totally insane."

Jeff rolls his eyes at me, a smile stretching the scars across this mouth.

I pull Taylor's liquor out of my pocket, catching one of the little pink boxes before it can escape and tip Jeff off to the situation. I hand the girl the bottle.

"Nothing for me?" Jeff pouts.

"Steal your own liquor."

"I'd sweat you don't care about me."

"I don't."

"Thanks."

I wave him off, "It's four in the morning. I'm going home."

"Me too," Taylor says, "see you tomorrow."

"See you," I say, and wave as she walks away.

"You alright?" Jeff asks as soon as she's out of earshot. I glance up at him and see genuine concern in his eyes.

"Fine," I say.

"You've thrown up."

"I'm fine. I promise."

Just like the last time he asked me, I see the tiredness in him and he just nods.

"I'll see you soon," I wave at him as I leave. I don't want to bring him into this. It won't work.


	39. Chapter 39: Lea

**AN:** This one gets a bit…sciency I guess. There's science stuff. You might have to do a bit of research if you haven't taken High School Biology, or whatever the equivalent is in various countries. Good luck to you!

**21**

* * *

**Reviews:**

**Superkassu:** No, Taylor hasn't seen Jeff before, but she's a little bit drunk, so that's probably why she isn't freaking out. As for the rest…stop. Just stop. It's not necessary.

* * *

[19] The Truth

1 April, 4:00 PM

39\. Lea

The panic associated with an injury surprises me, especially when the one who is injured is a close family member.

Adrian broke his arm falling off the monkey bars at school. It wouldn't have been a problem except for the fact that he kept playing despite the injury, until his bone actually punctured his skin. Lots of blood loss was involved, and plenty of panic from his siblings.

What with reconstructive surgery and everything it's starting to look like we won't be home today, and I hate waiting rooms. There's nothing to do in a hospital waiting room besides inhale the smell of sickness and listen to the sniveling of scared family members.

"Daniel," I say, "he's going to be fine."

The boy bursts into fresh tears. It seems that he's more attached to his brother than I previously thought. Perhaps what they say about twins is true.

Minerva glares at me disapprovingly over the top of her novel. I raise an eyebrow at her, but the worry in her eyes prevents her from catching my meaning.

Janey has curled into a tight ball on the chair next to me. She looks at me with big watery eyes. Her face is red from crying. "Is Adrian going to be alright?" She asks.

I look into her eyes and say, with as much conviction as I can muster, "Yes."

Janey, like her brother, dissolves into sobs. "Liar," she says through them.

Minerva glares at me, "Do you have to antagonize them?"

I shrug and lean my head on one hand. "I'm telling the truth. This hospital has had enough broken bones to insure this one will turn out fine."

"I know, but we worry anyway."

"I know," I say, and blink when I realize it's not a lie, but I don't worry at all about this family. It wouldn't matter to me if they all ceased to be.

"So shut up, would you?"

My vision goes red for a second, but I regain control before I can do anything I regret. I stand up, "I'm going to the bathroom." I don't look back to see their faces.

I don't actually go to the bathroom; I walk around for a few minutes, thinking hard. I've been trying to run from it, but I can't deny it any longer; there's something different about me, fundamentally so. I don't know if it's good or bad, but I'll find out eventually.

When I loop back around to Minerva and her siblings there's a doctor with them. He's tall, brown hair cropped short. He's in his late 30s at the earliest. He's talking to the trio, flipping through a clipboard of papers with one hand. Their faces are upturned to him as if to an angel.

I pause a ways back, uncertain of my position.

Janey catches sight of me and pulls free of Minerva's grip on her hand. She bounces up and down before me.

"Adrian is going to be okay," She chirps.

"I told you so," I say, addressing Minerva. She tries to scowl at me, but the relief on her face ruins the expression.

The doctor turns to face me. He looks at me for a few seconds, and pulls his glasses off as if to see me better.

"Well that beats all," He says, "Lea Amelia Burns."

The name bounces off my mind. It doesn't stick. "Excuse me?" I say.

"I'm sorry, you probably don't remember me," He tucks his papers away and extends his hand to me. "I'm Doctor Mann."

I take a step back, not saying a word.

Doctor Mann pulls his hand back, looking nervous. "Well I'm glad to see you've recuperated from your ordeal."

I look at him and say, "Ordeal?"

His eyes flick to Janey, "I shouldn't say in front of children."

I see the indignation on Janey's face and I squeeze her hand to keep her from making a scene.

Minerva can take it no longer. "Lea has amnesia," she says.

"How badly?" His eyes are bright.

"My whole life," I say, and then something occurs to me, "You knew me?"

"Sort of," His eyes flick down to the clipboard. He replaces his glasses. "Well if you kids want to go up and see your brother it's fine. He'll be a bit groggy, but he'll get better."

I push Janey towards Minerva, "Go on."

"Lea," Minerva says, and leaves it at that.

"He's not my brother," I say.

She just stares at me. I stare right back until she gives up and leaves, taking the two younger children with her.

I turn to Dr. Mann, "What ordeal."

He sighs, "Kiddo, if you don't remember you don't want to know."

"I think I can handle it."

"Are you sure?"

I wait.

Finally he sighs, his eyes slipping away from mine, "You were almost raped, three and three fourths of a year ago now.

I feel my stomach clench, "Well that explains a lot."

"Which is why I was so surprised to see you here. How long have you been staying with the Higgins?"

"Since July."

"I see," He says. He's not really interested; I can tell.

"What?" I ask.

"I wonder, would you do a favor for me.?" Is that a mad-scientist glam I see in his eyes.

"What is it?" I ask.

"A blood sample." He hurries to explain, seeing the confusion in my eyes. "It's a hobby of mine to run tests on blood samples, and the last time I had your it was interesting to say the least.

I smile, a brief reprieve, "Of course, if you do one thing for me."

He just waits.

"Test me for STDs."

"No problem," He clicks his pen and scribbles a note on the clipboard, "all under the table, of course.

"Of course," I echo.

"If you follow me I'll take the sample and start testing. It will take several hours, but you can come back tomorrow."

"I don't think we're going home until Kaylee gets off anyway," I comment and follow him up the stairs to the floor when Adrian is being kept.

"Luckily the room next to your adopted brother-,"

"They haven't adopted me."

"Well that's good, because your folks were still around last time I checked."

I feel a spark of hope, "You know my parents?"

"No," Dr. Mann almost sounds disappointed, "I met them once, because of your hospital stay."

I'm not sure I want to know my parents anyways.

"Anyway; the room next to Adrian Higgins is vacant. We can talk there."

He turns to me, pulling a syringe from somewhere on his person. The needle attached to it looks far too long.

"Arm please," Dr. Mann says.

I hold out my right arm hesitantly, not quite sure what to expect.

He slips the needle into my skin almost gently. There isn't even a hint of pain. I have a feeling the gentleness of the touch has more to do with my blood than my actual person, but it sets off a blinding flash of memory in my head nonetheless.

_I'm slipping a needle into pure white skin, in the tiny scar that's already formed from repeated injections. There's a slight intake of breath as the metal penetrates, and I ask, "Good?"_

_ "Fine,"_

_ I release the needle and start pacing, never looking at the person, but walking around and around them in circles._

_ Finally they say, "Lea?"_

_ "What?"_

_ "What's bothering you?"_

_ I stop pacing and lean back against the chair so that our backs touch, "I don't know. It doesn't make sense."_

_ I feel a warm length of flesh curl around my wrist._

_ "It's—"_

"There," Dr. Mann says, "done."

I blink. My head is pounding. There is a very undignified Hello Kitty bandage on the inside of my elbow. I scowl.

"It was all I had," He shrugs, then the professional air is back, "go sit with the Higgins. I'll call you when the tests are complete.

I bow slightly, making him frown, "Thank you, Dr. Mann."

"Lea," He says suddenly, "are you okay? You look pale."

"I'm fine," I insist, and turn on my heel to enter the room. I yank down my sleeve over the bandage.

* * *

It's not until nearly one in the morning that Dr. Mann calls me back. He pokes his head into the room into the room where Adrian is asleep on the bed and his siblings doze beside him. I'm sitting upright, not at all tired, but very bored.

"Lea," Dr. Mann hisses and disappears as soon as I make eye contact with him.

I get up from my chair with a yawn and follow him. The first thing I notice when I close the door behind him is how tired he looks. Long hauls don't just affect Kaylee.

"What did you find?" I ask, stifling another yawn.

Dr. Mann combs one hand through his untidy hair. "You're going to want to see this," He says, already pushing open the next door over.

"What?" I ask again as I follow him into the room.

"Good news or bad news?"

"Good news."

"All your tests came back negative. You're clean."

I breathe a long sigh of relief.

"The bad news is that my personal tests were rather disappointing."

And that's bad news? "How so?" I ask aloud.

"Well there's barely any of those strange mitochondria left, and all of them seem to be functioning at the normal rate.

I hold up a hand, "what was that about Mitochondria?"

He adjusts his glasses, looking more than a little smug, "When I first put a sample of your blood under a microscope it had a good deal of free-floating mitochondria. They were smaller than usual, I don't know how, and nearly twice as efficient. They gave of half the heat, and could process twice the calories. The little buggers burnt through calories at a rate I couldn't believe."

I'm much too tired for this, no matter how interesting I normally find such topics.

"And now they're gone, except one or two. You don't seem to target them as foreign objects, so I can only assume that you were producing them somehow and now you're not anymore."

"Am I a total disappointment or is there something interesting in all of this?" I ask, a slight smile on my face.

"Not at all," He pulls a piece of paper from his clipboard, "your karyotype is fascinating."

Of course I know what a karyotype is. "Why?" I reach for the paper, but Dr. Mann is already turning on the backlit display. It's a counterpart to the one we used to view Adrian's X-rays in the next room over.

He slides the paper into place and steps aside so I can look. It becomes immediately clear to me what's wrong. I count twice more, just to be certain.

"What the hell is that?" I ask softly.

"An extra chromosome!" He sounds delighted. I just stare while he rattles on, "At first I thought it might be a Philadelphia Chromosome, but you don't have cancer and all the pairs are present in their normal number. Then I thought of trisomy, but it's not large enough to even be in the second pair. It doesn't even look like a full chromosome, so that's not it-,"

I cut off his euphoric rant, "So it's not hurting me?"

"Not that I can tell, no, but it gave our computer quite the time."

I look up from staring at the almost nonexistent ball of DNA in the karyotype labelled "24." Dr. Mann is right; it doesn't look like a proper chromosome at all. There is something different about me. This proves it. There's something wrong with my very coding.

I have a sudden irrational thought and I dig into my pocket, "Could you analyze this?" I ask, holding out the rag stained with Jeff's blood.

Dr. Mann frowns, shaking his head, "It has to be fresh blood. Something I can culture."

"Okay. Give me one of those vials."

"Whatever for?" He seems to be slightly taken aback.

I smirk, "I'm going to get you a blood sample on Friday night. It's the chance of a lifetime."

He pretends to think about it, but I can see the hunger in his eyes. "I really shouldn't be doing this," he says, "but okay."

From his pocket he pulls a syringe of the kind he used earlier. He presses it into my hand, plastic cap on the needle and all.

"Bring me something interesting," He says.

"Don't worry," I grin, "I will."

Kaylee throws the door wide. She looks slightly scared. I stow the syringe inside the inner lining of my jacket.

"Lea," She says, disapprovingly and then, "Richard," in a tone that suggests the name might soon be on a gravestone.

Dr. Mann recovers quickly, "Good talk," he says, raising his hand to shake mine, "it was a pleasure to remake your acquaintance. I trust your brother is in good hands."

I shake his hand firmly, smiling graciously, "He is; thank you for reacquainting me with myself."

"Ah: the paperwork," He gathers up the papers, including the one from the viewing station, and hands them to me with a wink, "hold onto that."

"I will."

He turns and leaves the room, giving Kaylee a gracious, "goodnight," which she returns half-heartedly.

"Are we going home?" I ask Kaylee.

"Yes," She says, still looking confused, "what was that about?"

I brush her words aside, "Nothing. Dr. Mann just wanted to go over some of Adrian's information and I was the only one awake."

"And?"

I shrug. She really shouldn't be prying, "Let's go home."


	40. Chapter 40: Lea

**AN:** Oh joy, here we go. Lots of touchy-feely stuff this chapter, mixed with some vague science. Have fun!

**20**

* * *

**Reviews:**

**Superkassu:** I am a sucker for stories with science in them. You should have seen me squeal over The Martian.

**Mito (Guest):** Thanks for your review! Try not to freak out too much. I wouldn't want you accidently hurting yourself. (Don't whack your hand against a wall by mistake is what I'm saying because I've done it and it's not fun.)

* * *

[19] The Truth

April 3, 10:00 PM

40\. Lea

Jeff is tense today, but after a few minutes he's a bit more relaxed. I figure it's as good as I'll get.

"Jeff." I say, then stop: this is dangerous ground.

"What is it?" He asks.

I take a deep breath, "Could you do me a favor?"

"As long as it's not killing someone," It's only a half-joke, but I laugh anyway.

"No; nothing like that,"

"Then what?"

"I need some blood," I pull the vial from my pocket.

His eyes instantly snap to it. I think that he's probably had his fill of needles and vials. IV drips and skin grafts and who knows what else.

I conceal the needle in my hand again.

"Why?" Jeff asks, his voice scarily even and unemotional.

"Curiosity."

"You got a blood test done?"

"How did you guess?" I smirk.

He ignores the question, swirling the liquor in the bottom of his bottle. "What did you find?"

I shrug, "I'm clean."

"Well that's good," but his tone is saying, "I could have told you that."

"Yes."

"What else?"

There really is no reason to hide it from him, "Some irregularities in the cellular biology. Weird stuff. Do you know why it's there?"

I see something light up in his eyes, a glimmer of understanding. "You wouldn't like the answer."

I'm too focused on my task to comprehend his answer. "I thought I could do your blood too."

Jeff finishes off the alcohol in his bottle and flicks it almost casually at a tree. The glass shatters on impact. "I don't like needles," he says.

"Please, Jeff," I say, leaning towards him. I make my eyes big and turn my head slightly to the right.

I know I've got him the second he looks at me. He sees something I don't, and all the fight goes out of him in a rush. "Don't look at me like that."

"Please," I repeat. I don't stop looking at him.

"Okay: fine." He offers his wrist to me.

I make a soft hum in the back of my throat as I push his sleeve up. I pause, looking at his skin. No new cuts.

I look up and catch the sparkle of satisfaction in his eyes. I let my fingers rest on the scars just for a second. His heartbeat is strong under my fingers. I pop the top of the needle and slip the metal into the inside of his elbow without even thinking about it. Jeff winces but his arm doesn't tense.

I pull the plunger up, drawing a few milliliters of blood and then remove the needle in one fluid jerk. I cap the syringe. Jeff goes to pull his sleeve back down, ignoring the drop of blood oozing out of the injection point, but I stop him with a light touch to his wrist.

"I'm glad," I say.

He smiles. It's not his tired smile or his maniac grin: it's an honest smile. He's proud of himself.

I lean over and kiss his cheek. His skin is dry and soft and a bit too warm for the average human. I feel him tense, but I'm already pulling away. I think I can trust Jeff to be above that.

"I'm going to take this to my contact," I say, pocketing the vial, "you could come if you want."

Jeff shakes his head, "No hospitals."

"I thought I'd ask."

He holds out his hand and I press my palm against his.

"Next week," He says.

I nod and say, "Next week."

Then I'm on my feet and walking away.

* * *

I burst into the hospital room so fast that I almost fall over when I try to stop. Dr. Mann looks up at me

"What are you running from?" He asks.

"Creepy van," I manage between gasps, "and I think he might following me."

"Who?"

"The guy I got this from," I hold up the syringe.

Dr. Mann snatches it from me and holds it up to the light, "It just looks like blood."

I shrug, "You said blood, I brought you blood."

He "hmms," and steps up the counter.

I sit on the window sill and lean back against the cold glass. I glance back, twist around when I see Jeff in the parking lot. He's barely a white smudge from the second story window in the gloom. I wave and I see him raise a hand in return.

I guess he just meant he won't come into the building.

"That him?" Dr. Mann asks.

I nod, turning to face him, "He's just stopped cutting. It's good." I feel a grin spread across my face. I haven't felt as good about anything since I got here almost nine months ago.

"That is good," Dr. Mann says, He seems distracted, "these tests are going to take a few hours. You should probably go home and sleep.

I shake my head, "I'll stay here."

"What will you tell Kaylee?"

"That I went for a walk."

"If she checks in the middle of the night?"

"I went to my boyfriend's.

"She won't like that.

"I'm not her kid," I say.

Dr. Mann meets my eyes. He looks away after a couple seconds, "Stay if you want."

I drag the single chair in the room over to the window because I think it help if Jeff can see me. As long as he can see I'll be safe. I plop down in the chair and turn my head to gaze down at the man. He settles back on a concrete parking barrier.

That can't be comfortable.

I turn over and curl up with my legs underneath me. I watch Dr. Mann fiddle with the blood for a few minutes. He leaves the room and I snuggle down into the slightly-squishy cushions.

Jeff is still out the window. It doesn't look like he's doing to move anytime soon. I know he's watching me from down there, and the he can see my head but not much else.

I settle back and close my eyes, just for a second.

* * *

When I blink open it's light out. I'm curled in the chair, leaning to my right against the thin plastic arm.

_"Tell me I didn't," A face, gazing up at me._

_ "You didn't," my own voice, then my fingers ruffling his hair._

_ I stretch back against another warm body, snuggling into it._

_ "He's still asleep," the man says._

_ "I know," I smirk, "he's cuddly right when he wakes up."_

I shake my head sharply. I don't feel sick when I hear the flashbacks anymore. I'm not sure if that's a good thing of not.

I rub my eyes and stretch. My body feel strangely rested and loose.

Dr. Mann, who's examining a paper, looks back at me. "Oh; you're awake."

I look out the window, "Crap. What time is it?"

"Almost seven."

I sigh, "Okay. Good."

"He came up here after you fell asleep."

"Really?" I stretch again, but halfway through it the full meaning of the words hits me and I stop. "_He_ came up _here_?"

"Beats me how he got in here. He sat with you for a long time. I think he was worried about what I would do to you."

I raise my eyebrows at him.

"Really: I haven't done anything." He takes a huge swallow from a mug of coffee, "in fact I was worries what he might do to you."

I look out the window, "Jeff wouldn't hurt me."

"More likely he's physically incapable of it.

I turn back to the room and unfold myself from the chair. "Why do you say that?"

Dr. Mann pulls out a piece of paper and sets it on the viewing platform, "A hunch."

I step closer eager for the first look at Jeff's karyotype. At first glance it looks exactly like mine except for the Y chromosome in the 23rd pair, but I already knew he was male. Other than that it's exactly like mine, right down to the tiny extra ball of DNA labelled "24."

I feel a smile spread across my face: we're not so different after all.

"Absolutely fascinating," Dr. Mann launches into a long complicated rant about the characteristics and nature of Jeff's cellular workings. I immediately forget most of what he's saying, preferring to run the story through my mind again and again. Bullies, a fire, Jan, another fire, death, resurrection. Where in there does this tiny ball of DNA come in?

I catch the word, "alcohol" among the maelstrom of doctor's jargon and spin around to face him, "What was that?"

Dr. Mann blinks, "He can metabolize alcohol."

"And that means?"

"Well, we can only metabolize alcohol in our livers, and pretty slowly, right?"

I nod.

"So he can detoxify the stuff throughout his body. Hell if I know how."

I imaging that somewhere out there Jeff just woke up feeling very offended. "So, he doesn't get drunk?" I say.

"Does he drink?"

"Constantly."

"Then no; never so much as buzzed, but it's possible he uses it as a trigger to set off the feeling anyway."

"Hmm," I drone, stalling.

"An alcoholic's dream," Dr. Mann chuckles, "one sip makes you drunk, but you can pass any sobriety test they throw at you."

I take down the karyotyping and fold it up. "I'd better get home before people start waking up."

"Me too," Dr. Mann yawns, "long night."

"Tell me about it," I wave on my way out of the room. I need to think about this. This changes things. I will not be mentioning any of this to Jeff. He doesn't need to know what I am exactly.

I don't even know what I am.

_Yes you do._

I shake the fog from my brain and hope everyone is still asleep when I get back.

They are. The only one who greets me is Kip, and since no one is around I have no problem kicking him heavily across the room. He hits the sofa with a dull whack and huddles in place, growling.

Poe meows with amusement and curls around my ankles. He trots after me into my room.

I lip Jeff's karyotype into my notebook alongside mine and flop down on the bed. This is insane. How can this be happening? Am I some kind of animal hybrid? That would explain the off chromosome. The bonus would be that story would be that hybrids can't reproduce. That would be a load off my mind.

But of course it's impossible to create a human-animal hybrid, so that's not possible.

A red candy flies out of the shadows and lands next to me on the pillow. No doubt they were aiming for my nose. I pick up the treat and pop it into my mouth.

"I'm not going anywhere," I say aloud to the empty room.

Poe meows again, almost covering up the sound of another candy hitting the bedspread.

"Quit that."

The third projectile hits my leg and I sit up fast. There's already a red welt on my shin.

"Damnit: stop that. I'm tired." I spit out the red candy and flop back down, roll onto my side.


	41. Chapter 41: ?

**AN:** Holy crap…I have stuff to do…Uh oh…

* * *

**Reviews:**

**Superkassu:** Remember, alcohol can make you an embarrassment to yourself and others, cause your brain to physically change over time, and make your liver fail! This is why we shouldn't drink poison(I'm fun at parties). As for Laughing Jack…No idea. I don't even plan on having him talk in this fic. Which is probably for the better because I cannot write him.

* * *

[19] The Truth

2 April, 10:00 AM

41\. ?

"Hey,"

Mitch whirls around in his chair, his pen in his hand. Natasha has her head through the doorway to his room. She's touched her hair up he notices. Where she finds the money he doesn't know. Even if she dyes it herself hair dye is expensive.

"What?" He asks, trying to act as if paperwork is interesting in the least.

"Where's your-?"

He waves at his mask, suspended on a nail in the wall.

"Isn't that dangerous?"

Mitch snorts, crossing his arms, "You mean Undesignated? He's a softie if there ever was one. He knows what I look like already."

"He does?" She says taken aback.

"What do you want?" Mitch snaps, "I'm busy."

He can tell she's scowling under the mask, "Do you have any pills?" She says.

Mitch sighs, "Down to my last five."

"Just what I need right now: Slender-sickness," Natasha grumbles.

Mitch is already flipping open his notebook, copying down a series of dates. "I bet I know where we can get some," he says. As much as he dislikes Natasha, she doesn't deserve Slender-sickness forced on her.

He tucks the paper away and stands up. Natasha steps to the side so he can exit the room, and he trails after him as h moves down the hallway.

The entire complex feels alien without the usual crowds of people, even months after they've gone their footsteps bounce off the concrete eerily as they walk down the long corridors.

Mitch stops in front of a door with a plaque reading "Locker Room," on it. When he pushes the door open it is revealed that the room is lined with lockers at least six feet tall.

Natasha pauses in the doorway, apparently unsure what to think. Mitch strides into the room, muttering numbers as he passes the lockers. He steps in front of one with a padlock still on it.

"Okay," He says, taking the dial between his fingers, "seven, thirteen, ninety-seven." The lock doesn't pop open. Mitch jangles it fruitlessly for a few seconds before he admits defeat.

Natasha approaches him warily, still unsure of the situation.

"Here," Mitch says, thrusting the paper into her hands, "read those out to me."

"Why?"

"Because the combination for this lock is a date. Do you want pills or not?"

Natasha blinks, then looks at the paper, "October 31, 2013."

"Ten, thirty-one, thirteen," Mitch says, "not it."

"September second, 2012,"

"Nine, two, 12. Nothing."

"Why is there a date from 1941 on here?"

"Long shot. It's not right."

"Okay. August seventh 2012."

"Eight, seven, twelve." Mitch twists the dial. The lock pops open.

"I really should have guessed that," He says, popping the door open.

The inside of the locker is a peculiar messy-clean: everything is places carefully, but in no apparent order. Shelves containing a few personal effects are arranged to make room for the cardboard box beneath them. There's a dark blue jacket hanging from the hook near the top of the locker. There are a few photos taped to the inside of the door of the metal box. Natasha blinks at them. There are two people, a man and a woman, obviously parents, but there's two photographs, one of a blonde child and one of a very similar looking blonde adult, both wearing ridiculous green costumes—a cousin perhaps, or a brother.

There are also several sketches of people rendered simply but effectively. A man drinking from a bottle, two children playing with a dog, and a black-haired girl lying on a tree branch. Her right arm is dangling over the edge, and a pale mask hangs from her fingers by its straps.

Mitch catches her looking. "Jack's quite the sketch artist," he says, pushing aside items on a shelf to look at the back.

"This is his locker?"

Mitch snorts, "No. It's hers," He points to the sketch of the black-haired girl, "Or…it was here."

"And who was she?"

"Here they are," Mitch grunts, pulling two full bottles of pills from the back of the shelf. He stands up and holds one out to Natasha. She doesn't take it. He waggles it in front of her eyes, "You want Slender-sickness or something?"

She grabs it out of his hand.

"She's Undesignated's personal," Mitch says, pointing towards a mask hanging on the back wall of the locker. It was an X drawn through it in addition to the standard black and white look, "he's put her mask in here."

Natasha snorts, "What? Did she run away? I don't blame her."

Mitch is feeling the pain again, oddly acute in his chest. "They blocked her," he says, "she's the one we lost."

"We lost at least 20 people."

"Yes, but that's accidents, murders, runaways, suicides: normal stuff. We lost Lea because the Slenderman that blocked her wanted her lost."

"Maybe he knew what an asshole Undesignated is."

Mitch blinks at her, annoyed that his fond memories are being interrupted, "You personals and your egos; the world doesn't revolve around you."

"I beg your pardon?" Natasha says, offended.

Mitch knows how much Undesignated hates Natasha. He knows that he dreads every minute in her company and she takes pleasure in making him squirm. The Slenderman is too depressed to stand up for himself at the moment, so Mitch does what he should have months ago.

He pulls out his notebook, flips it open to a page and reads aloud, "Anthony: cuts and bruises, twice had fingers broken. Baker: repeated strangulation to the point of unconsciousness. Daron: broken wrist and ankle. Griffin: neck broken. Found dead. Do I need to go on?"

"Who are they?" She asks in a tone that suggests he's playing a joke on her, and she doesn't find it amusing in the least.

"Personals who are a lot less fortunate than you. He's barely ever touched you."

"I bet he did her," She points to the sketch of lea, "I bet he smacked her around all the time?"

Mitch just stares in disbelief for a moment. He slams the locker door, pops the padlock into place, and stares at Natasha, "You really don't get it, do you?" What he wants to say, but doesn't is "You are a replacement we don't want. They made us take you in, you useless pig, and this is how you think us?" He shoves past her and strides off.

Natasha stays where she is, fuming mad. In a few seconds the locker is open before her—the paper is still clutched in her hand. She reaches for the stupid drawing—who sleeps on a tree anyway—and tears it from the inside of the locker. Natasha means to tear it in two, but a second paper flutters to the ground from behind it. It lands face-up so Natasha can see it.

It's another sketch, but this one has a little color. It's the red that draws her eyes, and it takes a moment for the rest of the picture to fall into place. It's Undesignated, looking very odd as he rests on his back. He has a book out as usual, but doesn't seem to be paying it much attention. On his chest is the black haired girl, wrapped up in blankets. She's clearly asleep and just as clearly badly hurt. The part of her body that's exposed is a patchwork of bandages and bindings. Undesignated's tie, the red, is bright and clear, as if to identify him.

Natasha snorts in disgust. She snatches it off the floor and tears the sketch in two: what a dirty little witch. Anyone who curls up with Undesignated like that deserves to be tossed in the looney bin. That's probably where she is right now.

She takes a piece of chocolate from one of the shelves; it's just going to go stale in the locker, and pops it in her mouth as she leaves. It's pretty high quality.

Mitch is standing outside, scribbling in his notebook with his back against a wall. He glances at her, then turns around and moves away.

Despite herself Natasha finds herself asking, "Were they close?"

Mitch looks up at her, "Yes," He sighs, "God: I miss her, but compared to what Undesignated must be going through…"

Natasha scoffs and turns on her heel. What the hell is wrong with people?


	42. Chapter 42: ?

**AN:** This is getting a little more…adult themed. I don't think it's an issue, but let me know if it makes you uncomfortable later. The next chapter is a fun one! I can't wait to see how you guys respond to it.

**28**

* * *

**Reviews:** You all hate Natasha and I find it hilarious.

**Guest:** I won't do the "she turns out good" thing, don't worry, though I think you're a bit confused about the concepts of good and evil in this world. There's isn't such a thing.

**OreoNinja:** No promises. Thank you. I know that amnesia fics are one of those things people hate. I had an idea what I was getting myself into, but I've tried to make it interesting.

**SuperKassu:** No personality disorder, just extremely childish. Maybe Daddy issues: I haven't decided. Thanks for the compliment!

* * *

[20] Hunting

13 May, 11:00 AM

42\. ?

Raun's first impression of the place is exactly as she expected. It's shabby and cramped: a far cry from the Hunter facilities she's used to. Raun picks her way down the narrow staircase. At the bottom there's a door, a metal one that looks much too new to fit in its surroundings.

On the other side of this door is a corridor the likes of which she's never seen. It seems to go on for miles in front of her, intersections and paths branch from it at odd intervals. It's wide and tall despite being underground and gives the impression of a welcoming environment despite the concrete it's constructed of. It feels like she's back in a little log cabin.

For a few seconds, despite the gravity of the situation, Raun just stares. Then a voice from the corner says, "I know: it's atrocious."

Raun blinks and looks around. There's a woman in the corner, leaning against the wall with her arms folded and her face safely behind a mask. She has bright red, clearly dyed, hair. Raun knows because she recently got a streak of an identical red color; it hangs down her left cheek, just in her peripheral vision. Her top is low-cut and fine, revealing two very pronounced collarbones and a lot of cleavage.

Raun likes her almost instantly.

"What's the occasion?" She asks, smirking at the top.

The woman shrugs, "Another day spent trying to get into my boss' pants."

Raun almost laughs, but she remembers too clearly what a "boss" means here. Instead she says, "I know the feeling," which is anything but a lie.

"From what I've heard it's usually a lot less difficult to get one of them to loosen up," the woman continues, "just my luck I got the weirdo."

Raun skips over the awkward subject and gets right to the heart of the matter, "So," She says, the cheeriness in her voice strained and false, "where's the little bitch who killed my brother/"

The woman claps her hands in delight, "That's who you are: the Hunter girl with a score to settle. "We've been told about you."

"Just show me where's Lea's hiding," Raun snarls.

"Lea?" the woman asks softly, horrified.

"Yes, Lea: the bitch who stabbed my brother through the eye and killed him."

"She killed your brother?" The woman says, as if still processing, as if something is refusing to make sense.

"Well, he was trying to kill her master at the time," Raun amends "and he got him too, but the monster is still alive and my brother isn't."

The woman holds her hand up in a "wait" gesture, "You're saying that Undesignated was actually wounded by your brother?"

"I'm saying that Lea's precious Slender was essentially killed by my brother, and if I hadn't screwed things up he would be dead right now."

The woman takes a breath to reply, but just then Raun catches sight of a familiar figure near the end of the hall. Her eyes flick towards it and her stomach lurches unpleasantly.

"Rabbit," She calls out of habit, followed by a two-note whistle.

Rabbit, his human form, doesn't speak. He glares at Raun through half-closed eyes. The meaning is clear: he's not her dog anymore.

Beside her the woman is still struggling with the words, "Lea's precious." She's never seen the boy before, but she's a bit too preoccupied to worry about it at the moment.

The boy speaks to Raun now. He still has his accent, though it's much less pronounced. Raun feels a pang of disgust.

"Who else is here?" He asks.

Raun wraps her fingers around the handle of the blessed danger in her pocket, "No one," She says. It's not a lie. She knows there's no point in lying to Rabbit.

He smirks, a tiny movement of the corner of his mouth, "Typical."

Hatred floods Raun's mouth with bitterness. She's tempted to pull the knife out of her pocket and plunge it directly into Rabbit's smug chest.

The door behind her clicks open. Raun whips around, half drawing the knife from its sheathe, but it's just the man, Mitch.

"All clear," He says, not really to her. In fact he breezes right past Raun and strides off down the long corridor.

Rabbit snatches a paper from Mitch's hand and scans it. He leans in close and says something in a low voice.

Mitch angles his head to the left slightly. "Ya: you're right," he says.

Rabbit hands the paper back. Mitch takes it and turns to look at Raun and the woman.

"Enjoy your little chat," He says and waves.

The woman beside Raun jerks back to the present, "Right," She says, "I'm supposed to tell you."

"Tell me what?" Raun snarls, turning on her. The handle of the knife is cold in her fist.

The woman flinches back. Her eyes dart to the side under the mask, "Actually maybe he'd like to tell you himself."

It's then that Raun begins to suspect it, and part of her is really concerned.

"Come on," The woman says, and starts walking.

Raun follows, her mind still on fire. Rage is coursing through her. Stupid Rabbit; she hates him. She hates him more than anyone else.

After enough twists and turns that her head it spinning—how can you keep this place straight in their heads—Raun says, "Where's Lea?"

The woman tenses. Her hands ball into fists. "Did you know them well," she asks, ignoring Raun's question.

"Not really," Raun says, curiosity getting the better of her.

"Do you know if they were very close?"

"Yes; I think so. I think Slender used to carry Lea on his back, but I never actually saw it."

She can almost hear the woman thinking, "She only thinks so. It's not for certain." Raun watches all the tension leave her shoulders.

"We're here," The woman says, turning to face a door.

Raun frowns at it; it looks like any other door into the facility: same light wood, same name plate on it. this one says "Undesignated," which Raun thinks is a bit redundant.

The woman opens the door and steps aside to Raun can enter the room.

The girl peers in and blinks in surprise. There's no one in the room. That makes her stop, unwilling to go further. They might be trying to trick her. She adjusts her grip on the blade.

Things unfold quickly from there. The woman loses patience and gives Raun a hard shove in the middle of the back. Raun, tense, jumpy, and with a grip on the dagger in her pocket, twists around in on motion and slams the knife into the woman's neck. At the same moment, perhaps because of that moment, Raun is yanked through the door and up into the air, and a cut that should have ended the woman's life barly nicked her skin.

Raun is swung around by her ankle to face her captor. It's a very undignified position to be in. Her shirt is falling up around her chest and her hair is a straight line from her head to the ground.

"I would appreciate the woman alive," The Slenderman says. He sounds angry, so angry his voice is shaking slightly. The woman by the door takes a step back.

For whatever reason those words piss Raun off more than Rabbit, more than Mitch, and Lea and the woman all put together. The knife is still clenched in her right hand.

Raun squirms. For a moment it feels like she's become a liquid: her body is loose and boneless for half a second. This technique is guaranteed to break any hold.

He flicks her up towards the ceiling almost carelessly. Raun tumbles head-over-heels in the air. She returns to her regular shape with with a soft pop, and he catches her by the ankle again.

Raun blinks away the dizziness. As soon asher head is on straight she snaps, "Lea is just the side-chick now?"

That makes him pause, but only for a moment. It's like he's used to such barbed comments. "Lea is gone," He says.

Raun stops struggling and the second she does the monster plucks the dagger out of her hand. He turns it in his hand, as if examining the metal. She sees the muscles in his arms tense slightly, not a flinch but almost.

Raun kicks herself; how could she let this happen? She won't get anywhere like this. It's over; that's it. Because she only thing she knows about him is how much he cared for Lea, Raun says, "Gone?" Her mind is racing but coming up blank.

The creature flips the knife around and presses it against his own palm. He draws a thin line of blood, as red as any human's. Raun feels her breath catch in her throat; he's suicidal. He has to be: the lack of a face doesn't change the signs.

"Not dead," he says, "just gone." Then with an abruptness that shocks Raun, "Natasha; leave us."

The red-haired woman stays where she is, arms folded.

In response to this there's a wave of painful pressure on her mind. Raun presses her hands to her temples, unable to speak or think. The woman barely reacts.

Raun groans through the pain, "Get out, you idiot!"

That gets her. Natasha turns on her heel and slams the door behind her.

The pressure on her mind stops and Raun sighs in relief.

"Sorry," The Slenderman says, sounding almost sheepish. A few drops of his blood have fallen to the floor.

Raun looks at the cut, expecting green vines and a sickly tinge to the flesh, but there aren't any.

"Oh shit," She says.

He flexes his hand, "Immunity is so nice. I'll never b hurt by one of you again."

"What did you do with her?" Raun asks. She's buying time to think.

"Nothing. Someone else did it."

"Did what?"

"Locked away every memory with me in it and dropped her somewhere far away."

Raun will find her: find her and kill her, and that will be that.

"Who else knows where we are?" The monster asks.

"Everyone," Raun says, "I'm just a scout."

"Don't lie to me," He says softly, as if he's said it a thousand times before. It's not a demand, not even a request: it's a want. The creature says it as if all he wants is the truth and nothing more. Somewhere deep inside her Raun realizes she's hearing the tone he would have used for Lea, but that part of her goes unheard.

She finds herself unable to lie. "No one," She blurts, "it's just me."

"Of course," This time it's not his Lea voice. This time it's cold and unforgiving: like the void of space, bottomless.

The Slenderman presses the knife against Raun's own arm. The girl tenses.

"I might be immune," He growls, "but you aren't."

For a moment Raun is confused by the almost-taunt, but then she realizes it's not directed at her. It's just a thought.

Then the blade draws a single shallow cut in her flesh and Raun lets out a scream of agony that echoes down the hallways. The sound snaps something in the creature's mind somewhere deep down. Raun feels it go dark and still. Fear rushes into her head and freezes her muscles.

He moves faster than she can blink. Three spears of flesh slam into her back and pierce her: one for the heart, two for the lungs. Raun feels the blood rush into them. Her next breath brings up fluid. She can't even scream.

Strangely there is no pain, only cold shock. Her brain will shut down before her heart stops beating.

The Slenderman flicks her broken body onto the ground with barely a glance.

The woman bursts into the room. She stops dead, looking from Raun on the floor to the Slenderman, the blood still on him.

Raun heaves herself up with willpower she didn't think she had. There's still time; still time to even the score. She doesn't know this woman, but in some way she's replaced Lea.

"She's still alive," the woman says, stepping towards Raun as if to catch the girl when she falls.

Raun doesn't bother with weapons; she doesn't need them. She leaps at the woman, eyes wild. The front of her body is red with her own blood and her teeth are bared, fingers outstretched. One bite to the neck and it's all over.

Her hands wrap around the woman's arms, leaving bloody prints and heavy bruises. She sinks her teeth into the soft skin of her neck and bites down with all of her strength.

Her jaws snap shut with a crack like a gunshot. Raun is yanked back, making the woman stumble forwards. Raun's flailing hands leave bloody streaks on her skin.

The girl meets the wall and feels her spine crack. Her ribs splinter and the dagger rams home, right between her eyes.

There's no such thing as Heaven for hunters. There's a special place for them in the lowest pits of Hell.

Natasha throws up, There's so much blood, too much blood, and the stench of death is overpowering.

Undesignated sits by, unconcerned, watching as he gags up her breakfast. He doesn't say a word. He reaches out and touches the body, taking it with him when he vanishes. Natasha is too ill to be concerned.

Did he just save her life twice in ten minutes? That has to be some kind of record. She wonders why he did it, then decides it must just be instincts.

Mitch and Rabbit arrive a split second after Undesignated returns. The masked man closes his eyes and turns away. He mutters something about wishing Lea was around to handle this.

Rabbit goes straight to Natasha. He forces her head up to examine her neck and twists her around to look at her arms. "No harm done," H says, releasing her.

Natasha slots the mask back over her face. She turns and looks back at Undesignated, but he's busy cleaning the blood off the wall. It's the first time he's seen him move with any fluidity, and Natasha stands for a second, just staring.

Mitch presses a rag and bucket into her hands. "Help us," He says, "before the blood soaks into the wood."

Natasha complies, starting with her own vomit. She doesn't think she can stomach the blood.

She hears the accented voice of rabbit behind her. "thank you, sir," He says.

There's a silent beat before Undesignated replies, "You're welcome."


	43. Chapter 43: Lea

**AN:** I'm throwing in something at the end for you people who don't know why I killed off Raun. Don't judge too harshly.

Also, very few characters in this are original (it is a fanfiction after all) so if you don't know who somebody is, do a search.

* * *

**27**

* * *

**Reviews:**

**Superkassu:** You'll have to read the bit at the end. I know that even bringing Raun into the mix wasn't necessary for this story.

* * *

[21] "Hide Me"

May 13, 2:00 PM

43\. Lea

The chime of the door makes me look up. The man who comes through the door is tall and lean and looks tired and stressed and very afraid.

I give him my best welcome smile.

"Do you have a bathroom?" The man asks. He sounds a bit more than just desperate for a toilet.

I look up from my history book. He's really got my attention now. "Not a public one."

"My I use it? It's an emergency."

Good little employee that I am, I point down the building. "There's a café two doors down. They have a public restroom."

The man opens his mouth to reply but stops. His eyes widen in horror as he gazes past me into the parking lot.

I twist around to look. A pickup has just pulled into the lot. It's big. It has a crew cab that could seat six people in a pinch. It swerves into a space but effectively takes up three. Five guys pile out of it. They're all big and broad shoulders.

The man looks back at me again. The desperation is clearly visible in his eyes now.

"Hide me," he says, "please."

I look into his eyes, though he seems to have trouble maintaining eye contact, and in there I see a lot of terrible emotions ready to explode inside him.

I step around the counter and say, "This way." I shoulder open the door to the back of the shop, lifting slightly as I do because this door gets stuck if you don't. "Stay here and stay quiet. If it comes down to it there's a door outside back there."

The man grabs my hand and says, "Thank you."

I shake off his fingers instinctively. They feel too warm. Sweat makes his palms slick.

I pick up a pile of paperbacks as the man heads back into the shadows.

It takes me open a moment to get the sticky door opens with only one hand. The five men are halfway through the door.

I toss them a smile and say, "Can I help you?"

The biggest guy, in the front, says, "You see a guy go through here? He's tall, thin, light brown hair. Looks stressed all the time."

I chew on the inside of my cheek," A guy like that came in here this morning. He bought one of the self-help books. Anxiety."

One of the guys behind the first one grits his teeth, "He must have been farther ahead than we thought, Jacob. We'd better get going."

But the big man is looking at me, calculating.

My arms are starting to get tired so I step around the counter and set the books down. I look up at the men and give them a sweet smile.

Jacob places both hands on the counter and leans forward. I try to avoid eye contact, instead focusing on the pile of paperbacks.

"Are you lying to me?" He asks softly.

"No," I say, making my voice sound confused. I look up at him, but not directly into his face.

I see something shift behind him and my eyes flick towards it. One of the other men has bandages wrapped around his head, obscuring his eyes. His fellows press closer to him as they notice me looking.

Jacob leans in even closer to me, "I have four strong men behind me. You're one chick. Do you know what we could do to you?"

I look up at him, "Are you threatening me?" I ask, and this time there's steel in my voice to match his own.

"You'd better not be lying to me."

Now it's my turn to lean in close, "Are you threatening to rape me?"

He doesn't reply, but his gaze flicks away from my face or just a second.

I stand straight again, "Do whatever you want: I don't care."

He loses his patience very fast, and Jacob slams his fist on the counter, "Look at me when I'm talking to you!"

And I do look at him, right into his eyes. They're hard and unforgiving. I feel a sickening power cascade around my head. I sense it just as clearly as the person in the closet or Jeff's presence, and I know what he's doing. He's draining my life out of me.

Then, just as clearly, I sense a fluidity to my own mind: malleability, and I know how to use it. The recoil hits Jacob full-force. It blows him back onto his butt, sending his comrades in all directions, the blindfolded one getting pulled out of the way.

When Jacob looks at me again he looks different. His face isn't the same as it was a moment ag. It's wrinkled and shrunken, far too small for his head, and his eyes are swollen huge and pure white. There are a few drops of blood beneath them.

He's up in half a second, glaring at me. "No more games," He says, and reaches a hand out for me.

I reach back for my pocketknife, still staring unabashed into those blank white eyes. Some part of me registers his confusion about my lack of fear, and feels a glow of satisfaction.

I get the weapon halfway out of my pocket before the door chimes again. I glance over and Jacob seizes the opportunity to grab me by the throat. He lifts me up a few inches effortlessly, triumph on his twisted face but wariness in his eyes. He doesn't know why I'm grinning.

"Put it down," Jeff says from beside the door. He's for a knife in his right hand and is tapping the flat of its blade against his thigh.

Jacob knows the voice: I can see it in his eyes. He turns his head to look at Jeff, who seems to select a spot a few inches above Jacob's head to stare at.

I slam the knife into the inside of his elbow. His muscles spasm and Jacob drops me, cursing. I take a quick step back, out of his reach.

Jeff blinks at me in a surprised way, but then he's back to business. "She," he points at me, "is not a snack, so get lost."

Jacob turns on Jeff, oblivious to both his bleeding arm and how his fellows are backing away. He sneers. "Oh look; it's the blindy's boyfriend. Where's your lover, sicko?"

I expect Jeff to lose it. I'm ready to run like hell if he does, but instead he cocks an eyebrow and raises his knife to point at the blindfolded man, "He's not around, but it looks like you had a little run-in."

No reply.

"How does it feel, not to have your powers?" Jeff asks the eyeless man, "to know that you're doomed to a regular lifespan?"

The four men close ranks around their wounded comrade.

Jeff looks at me. We make eye contact, and I see the calmness in him. He is, for once, totally stable. He winks at me, and I can't help but smile back.

"Damn you," Jacob says, stepping forward.

"Leave it, Jacob," One of his group says, voice trembling, "you know that it doesn't work on him."

"Let him try," Jeff says.

He looks at Jacob for the first time, and again I feel that strange power. The man is drinking up Jeff's energy like it's nothing. It stays like that for a long time, with Jacob growing more and more uncomfortable and Jeff more and more relaxed. Then the larger man looks away. He coughs up a huge billow of smoke. A few sparks glow in it like dying fireflies.

Jeff grins, "Get out."

Slowly, resentfully, the men file past him and out the door. Jeff and I watch them load into their truck. When they pull out we look at each other.

"My knight in shining armor," I say, smirking.

Jeff shoves the knife back into his pocket. "I should yell at you for even getting into that situation."

"It wasn't my fault. They were looking for someone." I wipe the pocket knife on my sleeve and flick it closed.

"They're always looking for someone, and it was almost you."

"But it wasn't."

"I don't care." Jeff walks around to the front of the counter. He puts both palms on it, just like Jacob, and leans in I can smell a unique mix of alcohol, cigarettes, and other subtler scents. "Don't die on me."

I lean forward and let out foreheads mean with a gentle bump. Jeff doesn't even tense: he must be fresh off a kill.

"I'm sorry," I say, "I won't do it again."

"It wasn't totally your fault. Just be careful."

I straighten up, "You have a boyfriend?"

He snorts, "No."

"Darn. I was kind of hoping you were gay."

"Who said I wasn't?"

I wait for a moment, and he goes on with a sigh.

"After a couple years gender doesn't seem so important anymore, not when there are things that have none, or things that used to be female and were changed and made male."

"I imagine so."

"I've done my fair share on both teams."

"Did I ask about your sex life?"

He smiles at me again, and I return the expression.

The bell on the door jangles again as another man bursts in. He looks a lot like Jacob, and I start to tense up again. Jeff's hand vanishes into his pocket. I get a look at his eyes and relax: they're not hard and hateful at all. These eyes are warm and soft, but a little desperate at the moment.

He skids to a stop a few a few inches short of a bookshelf and, panting, says, "Where's Daniel?"

For one confusing moment I think he means the twin waiting at home, but then I remember the man in the back room. Before I can open my Jeff speaks up.

"Get lost,"

"What?" He looks confused.

"They left," I say, "go follow them."

"You mean they were here?!" He asks. He's horrified, "Ah, shit," then, "how are you too still alive?"

Jeff and I make eye contact. We're both thinking the same thing.

I step out from behind the counter and go to the door in the back of the shop. The handle is rattling frantically. I slap one hand flat against it to make him step away, then turn the handle, lift and pull. The door resists a moment, then pops open.

The man on the other side stumbles back a few steps, then looks past me. His face lights up, "Alex?"

"Oh thank god," The man who must be Alex says. He doesn't step forward or to rush to hug his friend.

I walk back to the counter and hop up on it. Jeff leans against the counter, and as a result, into me slightly. He feels slightly cooler than he usually does.

Daniel—I'm already thinking of him as Danny—blinks at me, "You have an older brother?"

On any other day he would have laughed, but today Jeff's head is completely clear. He closes his eyes. I shake my head frantically to shut Danny up.

"Danny," Alex says, "over here." He pulls him aside and talks fast, in a whisper.

I reach out and rub Jeff's shoulder. We do sort of look alike: pale skin, black hair. Our differences in body shape could be from different genetics. We're more alike than he knows.

Alex turns back to us. Danny stays behind him. I feel an irrational surge of envy and turn away.

"Thank you," Alex says to me.

"No problem."

He give me an odd look then, like just looking at me fills him with strange emotions. He addresses Jeff then, "Was Jacob here?"

I nod, Jeff shrugs.

"He was the one who grabbed me," I say.

"The one you stabbed in the arm?" Jeff asks.

"That's him."

"You stabbed Jacob in the arm?" Alex says, his eyes widening in shock.

I shrug, "He should keep his hands to himself."

"He really should," Danny says.

Alex shoots a backwards glance. I smile at them: they're so cute.

"Well, let's go," Alex says, pulling Danny along behind him.

On their way out I hear Danny say, "But I didn't get my book on anxiety."

I chuckle.

"You're cheerful," Jeff says.

"And you're lucid," I reply, and wrap my arms around his chest. I feel a shiver go through him, but don't let go.

"Lea," Jeff says.

"Yes?"

"I came over here to tell you I have to go somewhere."

I let go, sit straight again, anxiety is coursing through my system, "Where?"

"I'm not sure. Just away."

I don't respond for a moment, and Jeff turns to look at me. He takes my hands in his. "Promise you'll stay put until I get back?"

I nod: what else can I do?

He grins, the mad expression I'm so familiar with, and starts to reply, but then he notices the ring on my right index finger. He raises my right hand to look at it. The expression on his face is slightly troubled.

"Jeff?" I say, a little concerned.

"It's nothing," He drops my hand. "I'm going to miss you."

He has no idea,

I hop off the counter, making Jeff move back a half step.

He thinks about kissing me. I se the thought go through his mind. His eyes dart down to my mouth and my body goes tense.

I turn away from him, thinking that all guys are the same. "I can tell what you're thinking."

"Sorry," Jeff says, "it's automatic."

I snort and go back behind the counter, "Just go."

"Lea," He holds up both hands, palms out.

I press mine flat against his, enjoying the roughness of his palms.

"I'm sorry," He says.

"I know," I sigh, "don't do it again, alright?"

"Okay."

I glance out the window, "You're going to miss the bus."

Jeff looks up, alarmed, "You're right. See you soon."

He's off like a shot, running hard to catch the bus that's pulled up across the street. I watch him dodge a car on his way across and smile.

Getting by without him is going to be hard.

* * *

**Talking About Raun**

Some of you may remember that when Raun was first introduced I mentioned a friend of mine that had helped me come up with her character. The brainstorming actually was translated into a scene from Hunter when Lea and Raun are sitting on the riverbank. The same friend also invented the Vortex and Rabbit, both of which appear in conjunction with Raun the Hunter, the organization, and indeed most of their lore, was also made up by said friend. So that's the background information.

Raun was originally intended to be Lea's best friend. She was meant to be a very laid-back carefree sort of character, and I was going to have a lot of fun playing her off the uptight and anxious Lea. Obviously things didn't turn out this way.

And then I killed her, which in itself is a completely unnecessary act to the plot. I could have tied it up some other way. Why didn't I? Because I had to kill her.

Some of you may have noticed that certain characters channel different things. Slender is negative emotions: sadness and anger. Lea is positive: happiness, comfort. Jack is determination and acceptance. Jeff is instability and insanity. Raun is something more complicated, because she's the embodiment of my friend.

"So what's the issue?" Well, you see, for the last couple years I've been dealing with depression. It's been a very quiet struggle. There haven't been outbursts or cutting or suicide attempts, but there's been an awful lot of feeling useless and sad and just all around unhappy. Genetically I'm prone to depression, because my mother and grandfather have both suffered from it, but the catalyst event is what triggered this time of my life.

My friend stopped talking to me. Stopped texting, stopped emailing, stopped having conversations at school, and for the life of me I have no idea why, though I'm sure I must have screwed up in some way. This coincided with another friend of mine moving away, and an unfortunate series of events regarding a third friend who had emotionally abused me for several years, and despite everything that had happened this aforementioned friend upon whom Raun's character is based is what I put down my depression to.

I've spent two years walking away from that. You can see it if you read Hunter. I'm constantly pushing this character away, knocking her down, taking things from her. I couldn't let go of it. That's the main reason Raun was alive at the end of that book.

But a few months ago I did something. I took down the necklace my friend gave me that I had hanging on my wall and walked out to the pond I'd once considered throwing myself into. I wrapped the necklace around a rock and threw it in. Then I walked home and I killed Raun off. It's gotten better since then. You're seeing this now, months later, because I write so far ahead of what I pose online.

So, so sum up everything in those paragraphs, killing Raun off is helping me let go of something that has been dragging me down for two years now, and that I am so sick of feeling all the time. So, thank you for reading if you've made it this far.


	44. Chapter 44: Lea

**AN:** PSA guys: at the end of this series I'm going to make a comprehensive list of all the Creepypasta and stories I've used characters from. That way I won't feel like I'm taking anything that isn't mine. In the meantime: **The men in last week's chapter are from the story "Ojos Blancos" by Carsonomel.**

* * *

**Reviews:**

**Superkassu:** See above. Thank you for the compliment.

**Guest:** That's awesome! I love that people like these stories. I hope to do some other stuff with fanfiction, but getting published is my ultimate goal.

* * *

[22] 2nd Time Round

May 22, 9:35 PM

44\. Lea

I think that the family has started to notice my change in attitude. I've been sullen for the last week and a half. As Minerva put it in an email to her brother I'm "Back to square one."

I blame Jeff: the root of all my most troubling problems.

I'm not bothering to conceal my late-night comings and goings right now. After all, if Minerva follows me right now all she'll find is a vacant clearing halfway up the hill and a few fragments of dark shattered glass. It's better that she sees it like that if she sees it at all.

On this night I breeze out of the house right under Kaylee's nose. She just glares at me. No doubt her mind is still full of my words: "I am not your child." There's going to be a new campaign for my adoption. I'll run away before that happens. Maybe I'll hop on a bus with Jeff. I can't stay with him: I know what, but I can go little ways.

I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

I step out of the front door and turn left on the road, taking my time to the now well-trodden path up the hill. I'm in no hurry; I'm very early and no one is going to be there. If Jeff is there I'm going to punch him.

A car rumbles up behind me. I look back out of habit. It's Neil's second-hand truck. I stop, praying that he'll drive by, but the vehicle slows to a stop right in front of me.

Neil rolls down the window, leans on one elbow out of the truck, "Hey, Babe."

He's trying to act macho. It's not working.

"Hello," I say.

"Where're you off to?" He asks. His eyes track down my body and up again. Jeans, jacket with the hood pulled up: what is he looking at?

"Just for a walk," I say.

"Wanna take a ride?"

I narrow my eyes, "I'll pass thanks."

"Come on," He coaxes. He throws out that half-smile that I know Rosaline flips for. I decide, for the hundredth time, that mouths are disgusting.

"Go watch some porn or something," I keep walking.

The truck lurches alarming forward, keeping pace with me. I dance back off the road: I don't want to get run over.

"What's with this attitude, Babe?" Neil says, "and what's with the hood?" I can hear that slow anger in his voice. It makes me nervous.

"I'm not in the mood."

"I could change that for you."

I open my mouth to say, "No," but at that moment Janey comes running down the street.

"Lea," She says, "Your phone." She holds it out to me. It's larger than her hand.

"Janey," I say, "You know I can't unlock it."

"It was ringing."

"It's turned off, and it won't let me answer calls."

"Laughing Jack said to take it."

My brow creases in confusion, but I get it a second later. I take the phone with a sigh: useless hunk of metal, but I guess I'll hold on to it.

Neil is looking down at Janey, "Hey, kiddo."

She looks up at him, "Hello."

"You know my girlfriend?"

Janey eyes get really big, "Girlfriend?" She turns to me, "You have a boyfriend?"

"Janey—," I start, but Neil cuts me off.

"That makes me a member of the family, right, Janey?"

She nods vigorously.

"We'll have to hang out sometimes, just you and me."

My eyes snaps to Neil's face. He's looking right at me.

"Yes," Janey says.

I put my hand on her shoulder and push her back behind me. "What do you want, Neil?"

"You, in the car."

I swallow, "Or?"

"Or Janey and I will have a playdate sometime soon, right sweetie?"

Janey doesn't respond. I'm squeezing her shoulder to keep her quiet.

"Okay," I say, "thank you for the phone, Janey. Tell Laughing Jack thanks for me."

"Lea," She says, and now I hear the fear in her voice.

"Go on home," I give her a little push.

Janey hesitates for a long moment before she takes off. I watch her until she gets into the house, by then in a full-sprint, before turning back to Neil.

"I am not in the mood," I say. My arms are crossed over my chest.

"Come on, sweetheart: it'll be romantic."

"I don't give a shit about romantic."

"What? You like it rough?"

I sigh. I really want to have a conversation with Jeff. Not a serious one, but one of those brief chats that raise my spirits so easily.

"This is about that guy, isn't it?" Neil sounds pissed.

"What guy?" I ask.

"The one in the white hoodie, like he's some kind of celebrity,"

Shit. "Who?" I play dumb.

"The guy in the book store you're all cuddly with; who else cuts his hair like that."

I don't deny it: what's the point? Instead I say something I should have said a long time ago. "I don't love you."

"And you love him?"

I shake my head, "I don't know who you're talking about," Well, maybe a little denying.

"Then I don't care, so get in the car."

"Or what?" I ask again.

He raises his right hand into view. In it is a lighter. He flicks it on, and for some reason that terrifies me. That tiny little flame scares me worse than any knife-wielding maniac ever will. I know what fire makes.

"Okay," I say, "fine."

I catch the sadistic grin on his face for a moment, only a moment, but long enough to tell it's not Jeff's rough, playful sort of sadism. I don't know what it is, but it scares me.

I walk around to the other side of the truck, slowly, so that Neil has time to think. I could try to kill him; I have my pocket knife, but him against me? No contest. He's strong, secure, familiar with his body, and he works out. I have only just arrived in this new, confusing, mature body. Besides, I don't really know how to use a knife. I'll have to ask Jeff for a lesson. If he ever comes back.

I climb into the truck and slam the door closed behind me. "Where are we going?" I ask, secretly hoping that I can set his own snake on him.

"Somewhere private?"

"Your house?"

"No: Mom's home tonight."

Great. "Okay."

"God, you really aren't in the mood, are you?"

"No. I already said that."

The rest of the drive is silent. It suits me fine.

Neil stops the car in the parking lot by a large square building that might be a warehouse. The airport is abandoned. It would be in a town this small. The only exercise it gets now are helicopters working on wildfires.

I look at the back seat, trying to judge the space. Five feet long, four feet high. The seat is roughly two feet wise. Much too small. I blink: what am I thinking? The space is plenty large. I need to keep it together.

Neil turns the truck off. The inside lights flicker out. I wait for something to slam into the vehicle from the side, but nothing happens.

"Ladies first," Neil says graciously, gesturing me to climb over the center console into the back.

I grit my teeth but make my undignifies way into the rear seat. Neil follows close behind, a little too close. This is going to hurt.

* * *

I'm right: it does hurt every bit as much as the first time, except now there's no blood. Which is lucky, because it's a lot harder to clean up bloodstains in a car than on a bed.

Neil's a bit rougher, but I don't really care. It doesn't make a difference if I'm not enjoying it. I wait it out, counting the seconds, and then I lay where I am while he pants.

He should get a job and pay one of the girls at school. It would take less effort on his part.

I wish I could kill him. It's not the desire I feel, not the fantasies. This is born out of a simple truth: life would be much easier if Neil were gone. But they'd catch me. They'd lock me up, and that is not something I want.

A soft snore makes me blink the daydreams from my head. Neil's fallen asleep. Just my luck.

I sit up, wincing. Everything hurts. Again. I gather up my clothing and climb into the front seat. As I pull on my clothes I try to warm my muscles up, to relieve some of the soreness I know is heading my way. The other option is painkillers. I'll probably need those too.

I slide into the driver's seat and turn the key. The truck rumbles to life. Neil doesn't stir.

I drive back along the route we took here. The road lights up, black as tar, in the headlights. Driving isn't hard. Maybe I even have a license somewhere, but I doubt that.

I pull up outside Neil's house, shut off the engine and climb out.

It's a long walk back to Minerva's house, but with luck I'll make it pretty quick.

Kaylee is waiting for me, sitting with her arms crossed at the kitchen table. "Lea," she says, "we need to talk."

"About what?" I ask.

"Where have you been."

"At the airport," I answer truthfully, "I went for a walk."

"All the way out there?"

"A hike," I amend.

She just glares at me for several long seconds, but she doesn't see anything.

"I'm going to bed, okay?" I say.

Kaylee nods, "You're lucky tomorrow is Saturday."

"I know."


	45. Chapter 45: Lea

**AN:** I feel the need to say this, because Hobo-Heart is fairly new and I don't want to take credit for something that is not mine. **This delightful tortured gemberling is the property of ChrisOxFulton, and I in no way claim that he is mine. This is a FANFICTION for a reason.**

That said, if I had to name one current trend in Creepypasta it would be this: Gemberlings. Gemberlings everywhere. (That and deep web stories.)

* * *

**15**

* * *

**Reviews:**

**SuperKassu:** Wouldn't we all like to see Neil be stabbed a few times. You will, eventually, if you can put the puzzle together. I would advise selecting a few narrators and listening to their stuff. You generally get the really good pastas that way, without the failed or mediocre ones. Of course that's not always true, but it's pretty accurate.

* * *

[23] Hearts

29 May, 10:45 PM

45\. Lea

I groan when I reach the clearing; no one is here again. This is getting ridiculous. How long is this going to take? I was hoping Jeff would be back days ago. I was hoping he would come find me as soon as he did.

I've only just come to realize how much Jeff has been curbing my twisted desires. I haven't felt the urge to gut anyone for a couple months now, but it's starting to come back.

If it's a choice between killing something now or pray that Jeff shows up tomorrow, I'd rather not take that chance.

I cast around for an idea; something small that no one will miss. Kip comes to mind immediately.

I take my regular spot on a rock, trying to work out the details in my head. I'll have to hide the body, deal with the missing pet search, though honestly that shouldn't be a problem. This must be what it's like to plan a murder.

Then I spot the bird's nest roughly ten feet off the ground in a nearby pine tree. I'm on my feet in seconds, judging handholds on my way to the tree. It looks simple enough, and birds would be so much easier to deal with than a dog.

Of course it's possible that there aren't any birds in the nest at all. It won't hurt to check to be sure.

I haul myself up into the tree, climbing as if the branches are a ladder. It's not hard to climb yellow pines.

About ten feet up I pause and look down. I grab the trunk to keep from falling as the familiar buzzing fills my head.

_I'm resting my head against warm muscle, being carried. A garbled voice says, "Are you sure you're—" the rest is lost to the blur._

_ "Absolutely," My own voice replies._

I nearly fall out of the tree as I shake myself back into reality. I can't go drifting off now: not this far off the ground.

I set my eyes back on the bird nest. It's farther out on the branch than I expected. I don't know if it will hold my weight that far out.

I grab a branch above my head that runs parallel to the one I'm standing on. I walk down the branch like that, placing my feet so that my toes are barely a centimeter from the heel of my heel. I'm tightrope walking, and slowly my hands release the branch above my head and stretch out to either side, keeping me balanced.

I hear rustling when I'm about halfway out. I've heard it before. I look down, my heart beating out of my chest. Jeff walks into the clearing, clearly looking for me. I nearly call out to him, but as I'm taking a breath, another person appears. His figure is slimmer, taller, lankier, dressed in a dark gray jacket. When I see them I step back to the trunk of the tree; the sight is making me shiver with fear. My heart is pounding at a million miles an hour in my chest.

Jeff stops in the middle of the clearing. The other figure almost walks into him, then takes three hurried steps back, as if he's afraid to get too close.

"She's usually here by now," Jeff says.

The other figure turns around. I see a flash of white-blond hair, but that's it.

Jeff rounds on him, suddenly aggressive. "Try to keep it under control, okay? The last thing I need is you scaring her away."

He doesn't know I'm here. He can't tell. And I thought he had a sixth sense.

The figure nods but turns away almost immediately. He looks around the clearing, lingering on the pile of broken glass for a long moment. He looks up into the trees.

I hold my breath, praying that he doesn't see me, that they just go away so I can go back to the house and get the hell out of this town.

His eyes fix on me. They're bright incandescent blue. The white-blond hair is an untidy mop. There's a design on his face that appears to be a skull, pale white against the tan of his skin.

I start climbing the tree; I have to get high enough that they can't reach me, but only a few feet up the branches grow too thickly to keep climbing. I stare down at the man again. He hasn't broken eye contact.

Jeff keeps talking, "She'll help you get used to this. Once you see this isn't all bac the world might seem like it's worth living in."

My eyes flick to him for a moment.

"At least until you meet the girls," Jeff finishes.

I roll my eyes: jerk.

I go back to staring at the man, or boy, or whatever he is. He hasn't replied to anything Jess has said. That must be cause enough for alarm because when Jeff speaks next he says, "What are you staring at."

He appears next to the other man and tilts his head back to match him.

"Lea?" Jeff says, "you alright?"

My reply is to wrap a leg around the tree and find another branch opposite this one. I shuffle around the trunk, putting the tree between myself and the two men.

I hear a muffled grunt.

"Control that!" Jeff snaps.

"I'm trying," Replies another voice, slow and slightly deeper.

"Try harder," I can hear the insanity trying to break loose in his voice. I don't want him to snap here.

"Jeff," I call out, "he's not doing anything."

He grumbles something, but I can't make out the words.

"Stay here," Jeff says, and the next moment he's beneath me looking up.

He doesn't even say anything. He just looks at me and holds out his arms. He means, "If you fall I'll catch you."

I shake my head, refusing to move. I do not want to be on the ground with that man.

"Come on," Jeff says.

I start my climb down, cursing myself for being so attached.

A few feet above the ground a branch snaps beneath my weight. I manage to hang by my hands for a few seconds before finding another foothold.

I find one fast, but I hear Jeff's concerned rush forward beneath me. A few seconds later he lifts me out of the tree, hands on my waist, and sets me on the ground.

"That was a tense two minutes," Jeff says, looking me over carefully. I don't know what he's looking for, "Try not to break your neck, okay?"

I just nod. I'm feeling slightly queasy and a terrible dread has round itself tightly around my spine. I don't want to be here.

"Jeff," I say, "I have to leave. I just came up here to check if—,"

He looks alarmed, "Why?"

I swallow and glance away. That's all the answer he needs.

"Hobo-Heart is new," He says, almost whispering, "he's not good at controlling himself yet."

"Please," I say actually bringing my hands together in a praying gesture."

Jeff looks at me for a moment, then reaches out and takes my clasped hands in his. All fear instantly vanishes. I feel myself relax.

"He has some kind of issue he won't talk to me about," Jeff says, "I was hoping that you could get him to bring it up."

I'm a therapist now?" I ask, trying for a smile.

He returns the expression, and I see his body relax as well. "As a favor to me?"

"Okay, but you owe me one."

"I owe you a lot more than that." He lets go of my hands.

I wait for the fear to return, and some of it does, but most of it doesn't. I sigh in relief.

We come around the tree to find Hobo-Heart sitting on Jeff's rock. His feet are off the ground and his hands braced down at his sides. He looks up at us, through inhuman bright blue eyes. I'm in front of Jeff and I pause but don't step back.

"this is Lea," Jeff says to the man—or boy. He seems more child than adult.

"Hello," He says quietly.

"Hey," I reply.

He has a small bone lying at his feet, still and abandoned.

Jeff looks at it with a frown as he does to my rock. He doesn't sit on it. He sits down on the ground, leaning against it. I sink down beside him, close enough to feel the heat from his body.

Immediately Jeff lays down. He pulls his hood up high and curls into a half-moon with his head in my lap. He closes his eyes and appears to fall asleep.

I feel a smile pull at my mouth and set one hand on his head. He's taken himself out of the situation, but he's still protecting me. I've missed him.

The boy looks at us for several seconds. He says, "You're not afraid."

I look at him, into his eyes, "Not all the time."

"No?" He has a slow voice. It sets m on edge. "Do you know what he is?"

I raise an eyebrow, but my hand on Jeff's head is shaking slightly. I want to run away as fast as I can. "You mean Jeff the Killer?"

His eyes flick down for a moment.

I force a smile, "Of course I know. He told me, or admitted to it at least."

"And you're not—?"

"Afraid? No. Not nearly as much as I should be." I feel Jeff shift under my hand.

"You've never," He pauses, but the words get pulled out of him, "screamed at him?"

I get what's wrong then. I feel my heart twist in sympathy, but I can't just say what I'm thinking, not unless I want to get hit. I give Hobo-Heart a surprised wide-eyed look, "No. It's not his fault."

I know I've said something wrong. His face shuts down with an almost audible thud.

I go on in a measured voice, "Jeff doesn't have a choice whether to kill or not. If he doesn't he goes mad and lashes out randomly. I think a great deal of his life is spent controlling that."

I watch to see if this little speech has had any effect. It has. Hobo's face relaxes again.

"I didn't know that," He says.

I shrug. My rights hand, down at my side, flexes, reaching for something. I start to ball it into a fist, but Jeff's hand is there, pressing it open. He doesn't interlace our fingers, he just leaves his palm against mine. I concentrate on not letting the shock of that show on my face.

Jeff gives my hand a squeeze. I feel the bones in it bend and I bite my cheek to stop myself wincing.

Hobo is still looking at me.

I swallow hard, but if Jeff wants the issue he's going to get the issue. "What was she like?" I ask.

For the first time she seems surprised. He blinks at me for several seconds. Then he recovers and says, "She was blonde and tall—"

"That's not what I meant."

"She was—," His voice catches slightly, but he goes on, "She was always happy. She smiled all the time and laughed and nothing, and I trusted her. I thought I—," He breaks off.

"And then she started screaming," I finish for him.

He nods once, but that's enough. "It was on Valentine's Day," he says, very softly.

Jeff snorts, but manages to pass it off as a sleepy grunt. I concur. It's such a juvenile, irrelevant thing to be stuck on. I let out one harsh giggle. It's mean, but I can't help it.

Hobo's face clouds over again. He glares at me. "She told me she wanted my heart."

I smile at him, genuinely touched by the cuteness of this story.

"So I gave it to her."

I look at him for a second before it makes sense. I feel my mouth fall open and cover it quickly with my free hand. Jeff's hand tightens on mine. My mind is spinning, but it's not getting traction. Finally I say, with a frown, "but that's just an expression."

His face clears, but he frowns, "I know that."

"And yet," I say, but don't complete the thought.

He looks down.

The need to reach out and touch him overwhelms me. I stretch out with my left hand an touch his ankle.

Hobo-Heart looks at me again. I can see the painful aloneness in his eyes now.

"There are worse mistakes to make," I say, thinking of Laughing Jack.

He hops down from Jeff's rock and crouches in front of me. I frown; it appears as if his skin is darkening before my eyes. The skull on his skin appears much more pronounced now.

Hobo slips his left hand behind my head. I find I can't move. My hand in Jeff's clenches as fear spikes through me.

Hobo kisses my forehead. His mouth is warm and soft and dry. I have the thought that I much prefer this to Neil kissing me, though it's not nearly the same thing.

Then his hand is flat against my chest, just above my left breast, pressing against my heartbeat. He flexes his fingers and they slice through my skin like they're knives. My shirt doesn't tear, by some miracle, and it's the friction of the fabric against bloody muscle that makes me shudder.

My eyes widen and I feel my entire torso tense. There's a scream building in my chest but I can't seem to get it to move any farther than that.

_Move, damn it, move!_ I feel the paralysis break and throw myself to the side, away from the two men.

In the same second Jeff is up on his feet. He slams Hobo-Heart back against a tree, making the whole thing shudder. He pins the younger man with a forearm across his throat, and then turns to look at me.

I'm backing away, my feet stirring up the pine needles beneath them. I look at Jeff. He's lucid, I can tell, but Hobo-Heart is not. Hobo-Heart was trying to rip my heart out of my chest.

Jeff sees it in my eyes. His own black eyes widen, and he says, "Lea, calm down."

I turn and run. I sprint like I've never sprinted before.

From behind me I hear Jeff say, "Give me a damn good reason not to snap your neck," then I'm out of earshot.

I run down the him at top speed, tripping twice and getting several scrapes and cuts from rocks. I force myself to walk down the street, not run. My chest is throbbing with pain and five little spots of blood are forming on my shirt.

I cover my chest with one hand when I walk into the house. My breathing is fast and my face is flushed.

"Lea," Kaylee says, but I ignore her. I stumble up the stairs and into my room. My hands and arms are shaking so badly that I can barely move the bedside table across the room. I collapse face-down on the bed.

I need to relax. My heart is beating out of my chest. My poor nearly-stolen heart. I take a deep breath.

I hear something shift behind me, the closet door opening. "Who was it?" A voice asks. The grating shrillness of it makes me wince.

"Hobo-Heart," I reply, the words murmured on a breath. The shaking is starting to subside.

He pauses, "Who?"

"He's new." I pause for a second, "don't let anyone in here, okay?"

There's a second of silence, and I begin to wonder if I've signed my own death warrant. Then he says, "Okay."

I groan, "I'm sitting up now."

There's the sound of the closet closing again, and I wait until he's stopped moving before heaving myself up. I go to the bathroom to work on stopping the bleeding.

I'm going to have to apologize for running next time I see Jeff.

* * *

**AN:** I'm going to upload a lot over the next couple weeks. Probably one chapter every three-four days, or whenever I finish a rough draft of a chapter. I only have like 5 more chapters to go before the rough draft is complete! :D


	46. Chapter 46: Ana

**AN:** And now I start the most difficult part of this ordeal: writing the last five chapters of Flickers. It's going to be difficult for me to get through, and I know there's a happy ending.

* * *

**14**

* * *

**Review:**

**Superkassu:** Must be a pretty crappy holiday then… Well I'm glad you're excited. I'm really excited to finish this up!

* * *

[24] Spreading

5 Jun, 11:40 AM

46\. Ana

Ana is on her lunch break when Tanny enters the break room. The girl had agreed to stick around, but no more field work. That's lucky because they don't actually have the amnesiacs necessary to remove her memory.

"Ana," Tanny says, "they have one."

Ana waves a hand at her, "Get Greg to do it." She's still a little sore about not getting elected to the supervisor position, but Greg is better suited for it. She has a sneaking suspicion she can do more good right where she is anyway.

"He's asking for you," Tanny says. She sounds scared.

Ana looks up. There are only three beings on this planet that would ask specifically for Ana. One of them is Jack.

Ana gets to her feet with a sigh, taking her lunch with her.

When she steps into the interrogation room, the man seated across the table looks up. He's dressed in a gray jacket spattered with blood, but Ana is used to blood. One of his wrists is shackled to a steel bar set into the table.

Ana sits down across from the man. She offers a bag to him, "Chip?"

He reaches out with a deliberate hesitance and plucks a single potato chip from the bag. "Thanks."

Ana takes a bite out of her apple, surveying him. This is not who she expected to see. In fact, she's never seen him before in her life. She's never even seen a sketch of this one.

"Well," she says, "who are you?"

He looks at her through mournfully sad bright blue eyes. They jump out at her from the patterns of white and tan on his skin. He might be half African American, or maybe Middle Eastern: she can't tell. His face is like a child's.

"Hobo-Heart," he says.

Ana smiles slightly, "Hello Hobo-Heart."

"Hello," He says, then a moment later, "Ana."

Ana is picking up on all kinds of vibes she doesn't like. Time around Jack and Jeff and the others has acquainted her with the feeling of these creatures. This one is not giving her that feeling. This is all wrong.

"You asked for me?" she asks.

Hobo-Heart nods, "He told me to ask for you. Actually he told me not to get caught, but he said if I did I should ask for you."

"Who?" Ana's hear is loud in her chest.

"Jeff the killer."

Ana breaks into a smile. She reaches down and turns off the recorder under the table with a soft click. "You know Jeff?"

Hobo-Heart's voice holds no affection, "I know him."

"Good," She reaches down and pulls a file from the organizer at her feet, "then, please, have a look at these and tell me which ones are his."

He takes the file slowly. Everything he does is slow, like he's unsure, unused to everything. When he opens the file Ana sees revulsion cross his face. Not disgusted at the pictures, but disgusted with himself. He hates this part of him.

Hobo-Heart flicks through the crime-scene photographs at an alarming rate, and Ana has to reassess her perceptions of him. He's not slow, just cautious. She knows why Jeff would rub him the wrong way.

Hobo-Heart removes a single image and one newspaper clipping from the file, then pushes it back towards Ana.

"They're all his," he says, "except these."

"And who do those belong too?" she asks.

"They're mine," he says, not looking at her.

Aba grabs the papers and examines them. The photograph is of a teenage girl, splayed on her back. Her chest is a mass of broken bones and blood-soaked viscera. What appears to be her heart sits on her chest, a shrunken black lump. The newspaper bears the headline, "Six Teens Missing."

Ana frowns, "There aren't supposed to be in there."

He just shrugs.

"You're very open about this,"

"He told me to come clean," Hobo-Heart makes air quotes around the last two words, making the shackles jingle.

Ana smirks, "I never liked Jeff much."

His face shuts down. All expression vanishes and the creature regarding Ana from across the table turns alien.

The woman feels twin surges of fear and sorrow. Her eyes fill with tears that she can't stop from spilling over. She fights to maintain some portion of her self-control and fights down the sobs.

"Of course, when Lea was around it was hard to see them as monsters," Ana manages. She realizes with a jolt that this has been squirming inside her for some time.

The fear and sadness fade away. Hobo-Heart's face comes alive again, and appears puzzled. "Lea?" he asks.

"Jeff would have mentioned her," Ana says, and continues when she sees the blank look on his face. "She was a nice girl, I thought so at least. She had some kind of affinity for them-you. She makes you act human, more human than most humans act."

"Why are you referring to her in the past tense?"

Ana double-checks that the recording equipment is off. "Because the Proxies blocked her. God knows what that means, but I figure she's dead by now one way or another. Her affinity didn't extend to humans."

Hobo-Heard frowns, "But—,"

Tanny opens the door to the room and sticks her head in. She gives Hobo-Heart a terrified glance. "Ana?"

"Yes?"

"Greg wants to know, 'what the bloody hell that was.'"

Ana glances back at the girl, "My friend here. It's not going to happen again."

Tanny nods, still looking scared, and withdraws her head.

Ana looks at Hobo-Heart, "You're very new to this, aren't you?"

He pauses, like he's not ready to admit this, but says, "Yes."

She smiles, "You'll get it. I'll track down Eyeless Jack for you. You'll like him more than Jeff. If Lea were still around she could find him, but—,"

Hobo-Heart cuts across her words, "But I met her."

Ana stops, "Pardon?"

"I met Lea. The Killer took me to see her."

Ana is already reaching for her phone, "I sweat if I ever get my hands on that man…" She lets the thought trail off. "Where?"

Hobo-Hear blinks, "I'm not exactly sure."

Ana groans, just her luck, "If you tell me, I'll let you and we will never bother you again."

"Jeff said something about seeing her regularly though. Does that help?"

Ana is momentarily lost, her brain spinning without traction, but then he makes the connection. She reaches down and finds a specific piece of paper in the files. It's a scatterplot on a U.S. map of all the murders attributed to Jeff the Killer. The recent months are displayed in a bright blue. Just like Jack's trail—Ana has been following that one—this shows a new pattern. Jack's is a series of roughly straight lines back and forth in intricately small patterns: a grid search. Jeff has been moving in a circle around a section of the border between Nevada and California. One line leads out into Michigan, then back again. The entire formation resembles a lollipop. Ana can see the blue teardrop of a lake in the very center of the circle.

She raises her phone and enters a number from memory. She makes a signal for Hobo-Hear to remain quiet as she speaks.

Mitch answers on the second ring.

"Fuck off," He says.

"Found her," Ana says. the realization is starting to hit hr. She promised Jack she would spread the news, but she hates bringing Lea back for numerous and confusing reasons.

"What?"

What if she doesn't bring her back? Things will only get worse. Ana knows that. It's only a matter of time before Jack's grid search takes him far away from Ana.

"Ana?" Mitch says in her ear.

"I know where Lea is," Ana says with much trepidation.

She hears him fling himself up from whatever he's sitting on, "Really?!"

A heavy weight settles in her stomach as she gazes across the table at Hobo-Heart. "I'm not sure. It could be a mistake."

"Who've you got it from?"

"Jeff, indirectly."

"Mitch is quiet for a moment, "Probably a mistake then. I should check it out before I go crying wolf."

"We can do that." Ana says, then says to Hobo-Heart, "Will you be able to show us where she is if we get close?"

"Yes," the boy replies."

"Alright," Ana says, "Mitch, the Sacramento airport in two days. Bring some of those pills."

"Yes ma'am," he says, "anything to get out of this graveyard. I'll bring Rabbit."

"Whatever you want," Ana rolls her eyes, "see you in two days." She clicks the phone off.

Ana turns back to Hobo-Heart and asks a very important question, "How long?"

"Yesterday," he replies without missing a beat, "it usually lasts a week or a week and a half."

"Plenty of time," Ana says. She pulls her gun on him.

Hobo-Heart doesn't even flinch.

Ana pulls out a pair of handcuffs and tosses them to him, "Put them on."


	47. Chapter 47: Lea

**AN: **You guys have to remember that when I'm writing the rough drafts, I'm writing chapter 70-something. Guess all you want, but it's set in stone now, and there's not much I can do about it. Merry Christmas to all of you!

* * *

**Reviews:**

**Guest: **I do, in fact, have a big ass plot twist planned, but you're going to have to wait a while to see it.

**Superkassu:** Merry Christmas to you too, and yes, there is a massive plot twist headed your way. In a couple months.

* * *

**13**

* * *

**Slight warning: a lot of implied sex/sexual actions**

[25] 3rd Time's the Charm

June 5, 10:45 PM

47\. Lea

I steal some whiskey for Jeff. I figure he'll appreciate the gesture. There's wine for me and an extra glass for Hobo-Heart; though, he didn't seemed like the drinking type to me. Then again, maybe he's never been given the opportunity before.

Thank goodness for the one week resting period. If I had tried to go back sooner, I probably would have run away screaming. Again. As it is, I think I can hold it together.

My fingers stray to the dark photograph on the bedside table. I pocket it. I've barely thought about it for the past nine months. My only rational for taking it is a thought that Jeff might know what it means. I don't know why he would, but it's worth a shot.

I dump my backpack out and put these few items in it; then I pop a red candy in my mouth and walk out of the room.

Kaylee doesn't even look up when I leave now, but I see her jaw clench and her lips purse. After that I'm outside, striding out into the night air and coming alive for the first time in a week.

I make it to the road okay, and I start walking to the path a half block away. I almost expect the rumble of the engine when I hear it.

The headlights catch me in a white beam of light. I have a mental image of a horribly bright light, brighter than the sun. The car pulls up alongside me. I keep walking for a second, hoping that it has nothing to do with me.

"Going for a walk?" Neil asks.

I'm level with the path now. For a moment, I consider turning and following it up the hill. Of course Neil would follow me, and then I would be leading him straight to a serial killer who has a soft spot for me and no love for anyone trying to hurt me. It's almost too good to resist.

Of course, Neil would be dead and I would be at the top of the suspect list. What am I going to tell them? "It wasn't me officer. All I did was lead him to my serial killer friend named Jeff." That's a good way to end up in a psychiatric facility.

I turn to face Neil, "What do you want?"

"Come on, babe, don't be like that."

I stare at him for a second before saying, "Why can't you be like normal teenage boys and moon over cheerleaders and sluts? Or jack off to porn videos like any other idiot?"

That seems to catch him off guard. It takes him a moment to craft a smooth reply. "You're hotter than any teenager."

I look down at myself and back up at him with raised eyebrows. "I have to be somewhere, bye." I turn on my heel.

Neil calls out to me, "I saw that guy again."

I close my eyes: Neil saves these tidbits for blackmail. I know that. He never mentions them in casual conversation.

"He had some weird guy with him. He was wearing face paint. You didn't tell me you were into threesomes."

Always back to sex. "Would you believe me if I told you I didn't have sex with them?"

"Only if you told me they were gay."

I shrug, "They are."

"You're lying," Neil says. I can hear the slow anger starting in his voice.

I snap. All I can think it that he's keeping me from Jeff, keeping me from Hobo-Heart and the only things that have kept me alive for the past months.

"Why don't you bang Rosaline?" I say, rounding on him. I see Neil flinch back even though he's in a car and well out of reach. "She'd roll over for you and be pretty happy about it."

"There's no challenge in that."

I see: I'm a _challenge_, something to be mounted on his wall. A piece of meat.

I turn to look back up the hill. That's where I want to be, need to be. I take one step in that direction.

Neil calls out to me, "Come on, babe. It's not that important."

"It's deadly important," I say.

Neil doesn't even listen. "How's Janey?"

I swallow.

"Because, you know, I said I'd take her somewhere. I should really keep that promise."

I wordlessly walk around the truck and climb into the passenger seat. Damn my attachments.

"Where to?" I ask.

"My mom's gone today."

At least I get to see the snake.

* * *

Pain again. Not as much, not nearly, but enough to make me want to wince. I wait patiently for Neil's breathing to settle.

All I can think is that in a little more than a month I'll be gone. Then this won't be torture: it will just be a memory.

Neil rolls over in his sleep, one foot meeting my thigh with some force. I suddenly want to kill him. I want to rip him apart and feel blood between my fingers. I want to open him up and disembowel him and make him regret what he's done to me.

I get up. My clothes are folded neatly on the dresser, but I don't put them on. I pull on my underwear and bra and cross to the terrarium containing the snake.

I don't pick it up, simply lowering one arm into the tank.

The snake flicks its tongue at me, tickling my palm. It slides up my arm with surprising speed and coils around my shoulders like a scarf. It's tongue tickles my neck as it smells me. I stroke the smooth scales and sigh at the oddly familiar sensation.

From behind me Neil says, "What are you doing?"

I turn to look at him. The snake slides and coils lazily around my upper arm. Neil is sitting up, gazing at me with wide eyes.

"Visiting your snake," I say.

"Cecilia isn't my snake," He says, "she's my father's."

I stroke the snake's head, "Hello, Cecilia."

In return she flicks her tongue at me, then slides back up to my neck.

"No one is supposed to take her out of that tank," Neil says.

"Why?"

"She tried to strangle me once."

I look at him, "She's not strangling me."

"My dad said—,"

I shrug, moving the snake with me, and that shuts him up, at least for a few seconds.

"Come back to bed," he says.

"No thanks."

"Babe—"

"No."

The snake raises its head and looks at Neil through slit-pupiled eyes. Its tongue flicks out at him.

"What's with you?" Neil asks.

"I told you: I don't love you."

"That doesn't mean anything. Sex and love are different."

I cock my head slightly, "That's true."

"So come back to bed," He tries. He wants me to put the snake back more than he wants me back in bed.

"I'm going to be sore enough tomorrow already. I'll pass."

"Can't argue with that."

I relax slightly. Cecilia lowers her head again.

Silence for a few seconds. I hear the whisper of fabric as Neil moves around. The snake's tail coils around my bicep but doesn't squeeze.

"What's this?" Neil asks.

I turn around. He's holding the photograph. It must have fallen out of my pants pocket. I don't respond to his question.

Neil squints in the low light and clicks on a bedside lamp. His skin catches the light at an odd angle, casting a golden sheen over him. I feel disgust rise in my throat at the sight.

"Is this you?" he asks.

"I don't know."

"Yes it is. You're right here," he points to a vague shape in the picture.

I step forward to see what he's pointing at. It might be me, but it might not be. It looks sort of like a person at least.

"And this is…" Neil trails off, "what is it?"

I reach out to take the photograph, but Neil holds it out of my reach. I narrow my eyes and reach for it again and again he moves it away.

Neil is smirking slightly.

"Give it to me," I say.

"Why should I?"

I don't have an answer to that. I reach for the picture again.

Neil pushes me back with one hand in the center of my chest. His arms are longer than mine, and he easily keeps me away. He brings the photograph down to his face, takes one corner between his teeth, and rips it neatly in half so that the shape he claims is me is separated from the thing he doesn't know what to call.

I see red. I reach out one hand towards the two pieces childishly, unable to speak.

I register a sudden sharp pain across my cheek and then I'm moving. My hands throw Neil off the bed, slam him into the dresser. Something falls to the ground with a loud thud.

I'm on top Neil, straddling his waist. He's staring up at me, bewilderment on his face.

Blood is pounding in my ears and my hands are shaking. The rational part of me is being overwhelming need to feel living flesh under my hands. It's an entirely familiar urge.

Neil tries to push me off him, smiling like this is a game. He takes a breath to say something.

I put my hands around his throat and press down with all my weight. His eyes widen and his hands start clawing at my fingers and wrists. His nails rip deep welts in my skin, but I barely feel it. It's a matter of seconds before he thinks to break my fingers.

Acting on instinct, I pull up, raising Neil a few inches off the carpet and slam him back down. His eyes unfocus and I change my grip, balling h\my hands into fists and pressing down with the heels of my palms.

The boy is gagging, choking for air. His hands try to find my fingers but give up quickly. I feel a grin spread across my face. I wish I had a knife.

Then Neil's fist slams into the side of my head. Full of desperate adrenaline strength, it throws me against the bedframe. My right forearm begins to bruise almost immediately. The smooth coils of the snake slide from around my neck.

Neil is up, but he isn't running away. He slaps me, open-handed, across the face.

"You bitch," He snarls, "I knew there was something wrong with you."

I blink; something wrong with _me_?

He punches me then. Where he meant to hit me I don't know, but I start moving and he catches me on the right cheek.

I'

M up again, close to Neil. He steps back, trying to get space, but I move with him.

A voice pops into my head, a voice I've never heard before. It's saying, _"Elbows are better than fists, especially in close quarters, try to never use your fist ever, unless you know you aren't going to hit bone. You'll break your knuckles. If you can, use feet. Your legs are where all your power comes from."_

I twist my upper body to the side, then uncoil and bring my elbow hard into Neil's ribs. I feel something crack. He cries out and reaches for me, hands like claws. My other hand is balling into a fist, keeping the same rotation, and that hits him squarely in the gut with more force than I thought I could muster. The air leaves him in a rush as Neil bends double. I bring my knee up and hit him in the face full-force. then my foot extends in a vicious kick into his exposed testicles. I hear a collective wince from two miles around. In retrospect, he probably should have taken the time to put on pants.

Neil sinks to the ground, gagging and moaning, bleeding from a bloody nose and a bitten tongue. I push him over backwards with one shove from a bare foot.

I hear another voice, Jeff's, but he's saying words to me he's never said, _"Crush their windpipe when they're down."_

I put my foot my foot against Neil's neck. All I have to do is stomp down.

_"But,"_ Another voice says, smooth as silk, _"You should only use those methods as a last resort."_

I pause.

There's a chorus in my head, _"Do not get caught. Don't do anything that will get you caught."_

I take my foot off Neil's neck. He's not getting up for at least fifteen minutes anyway, and he's going to be bruised to hell tomorrow.

I pull on my clothes and grab my bag. The bottles are miraculously whole, but it feels like the glass is broken. I stop and grab the pieces of the photograph in trembling fingers.

Neil grabs my ankle and I deftly kick his elbow so it flexes inwards and he lets go. I could have broken his arm, but I didn't.

I'm shaking now: too close. That was far too close.

I step over the coils of the snake and run out of the apartment and the building. I need to find Jeff right now.


	48. Chapter 48: Jeff

**AN:** If any of you are going to be at a convention called SacAnime this weekend, I'll see you there! Maybe. I'll be the one following around a Trickster Dirk and trying not to be associated with Homestuck. My sister is kind of insane.

* * *

**12**

* * *

**Reviews:**

**Superkassu: **there is little chance of Lea being left in peace anytime soon. 70 chapters, and every one of them is important. Except one I'm considering removing. We'll see.

**JTLETSGETIT:** For whatever reason Fanfiction does not like your reviews. I never get notifications for them. Sorry about that. I've been waiting a while for her to beat the crap out of someone too.

* * *

[25] 3rd time's the charm

5 June, 11:00 PM

48\. Jeff

Jeff is trying to be rational. It's not his strong suit. He usually finds ben if he needs a rational explanation to a problem, but Ben's been off the map for months now, and Jeff is loath to go looking for him. The damn ghost is probably hopping a ride to mars on a NASA radio signal. Ben has the attention span of a hyperactive goldfish.

So Jeff sits by himself and tries to make up a reason for Lea to be so late coming to the clearing. The one that makes the most sense is simply that she's too scared after her encounter with Hobo-Heart.

Jeff can't pretend he's not mad about that. He's doing his best not to remember what it was like for him to be on his own for the first time. Of course, Jack didn't just chuck him out quite so dramatically. No: Jack left a note and walked away. He showed up again, yes, but two months was too long. Jeff never thought he'd ever have separation anxiety.

Hobo-Heart hadn't been there nearly as long as he had. That's not a good thing. Jeff can't begin to imagine what kind of hell he's putting the kid through. This must be what guilt feels like. He'll find him and explain himself as best he can. Hobo-Heart shouldn't be hard to find. The kid stands out.

But right now Jeff needs to worry about Lea. She's never run before, not from anyone not trying to kill her on the spot. He'd once tried to kill her and woken up the next morning with his head in her lap. It's just not something she does.

Well, not the old Lea at least.

Jeff pushes himself off his rock and starts pacing. He checks the trees again just to be sure she's not up there. She's not. That's probably for the best. He's never been one for climbing trees. Houses, yes, but for some reason trees freak him out.

Jeff's mind is still spinning. If Lea did run she's changed a lot more than he thought. Maybe he's misjudged this entire situation.

Or maybe there's another reason for her to behave this way. He'd really like to think that's true, but it's just not. Lea's afraid of him. Jeff didn't expect that thought to hurt so much.

There's nothing for it: he needs to find her and talk to her.

Jeff starts down the hill slowly. He slips one hand into his pocket, caressing the knife. No work for it tonight. He'll just have to get by for a bit longer.

He has to give Lea back soon. He's pushed the limits too far as it is. Soon he'll break something, probably Lea herself.

He grumbles under his breath and walks on down the road. This is the way Lea comes up, and Jeff knows which house is hers by now.

He pauses; he's not used to strolling up to houses. His instincts are to shimmy up to the second or third story, but that won't do. This isn't a midnight murder spree: it's a social call.

So, for the first time in living memory, Jeff the killer walks up to the front door of a house and knocks.

A round woman with frizzy blonde hair opens the door. She looks tired and wears a nurse's smock. There's blood on one pant leg.

Jeff takes a shuffling step back. He hates doctors. He focuses on keeping his voice steady, not rushing his speech.

"Is Lea here?" He asks.

The woman scowls, but she's polite, even friendly. Funny how age dulls human instincts.

"You're out of luck," the woman says, "she goes out on Fridays. God knows where she goes."

Jeff pauses, worry creasing his brow. She's not here after all. The woman is still looking at him, waiting for Jeff to speak.

"She's usually with me," he says and regrets it immediately.

The woman's eyes narrow and she frowns.

"Just talking," Jeff supplies, and then when the glaring doesn't stop, "look; I just need to talk to her, so if you know where she is—,"

"She has a boyfriend," the woman says.

Jeff frowns, "I know. She talks about him a lot." Not very fondly though.

"Mom?" says a voice. It sounds young.

Jeff looks past the woman in the doorway. Three kids are poking their heads around the doorframe: two boys and one girl. He blinks in surprise.

"It's nothing, honey, just someone here about Lea."

The little girls steps forward, her face bright and open, "Is it a friend?"

The woman looks at her daughter, then at Jeff. He nods slightly, "We're friends."

The girl smiles, "Laughing Jack says Lea has interesting friends."

Jeff swallows nervously, "Laughing Jack?" He steps back and looks up, scanning the house above him for telltale movement.

"It's her imaginary friend," the woman says in a conspiratorial whisper.

Jeff shrugs, "A bit more than imaginary, but it's not my business."

The woman looks at him, frowning without comprehension.

Jeff sees his chance, "Is it okay if I wait here for her to come back?"

"Of course," she says, recovering. She steps to the side to allow Jeff into the house.

He takes a step back, "I'd better now. I'll wait out here."

Her eyes soften, "You sure?"

Jeff bites his tongue and nods.

"I'm Kaylee," she extends one hand.

Jeff looks at it, stuffs his own hands deeper into his pockets, "Jeffery."

Kaylee pulls her hand back after an awkward moment, "Okay."

Jeff is already turning away, "Thanks."

"You're welcome…" he hears the door shut after a couple seconds.

Jeff sits on the front steps and pulls out a cigarette. His fingers shake slightly as he flicks the lighter, making the yellow flame flicker.

A dog yaps to his right, and the next second a white puff-ball comes flying around the corner of the house. It looks ready to bite, but as Jeff watches, the dog slows, sniffs as his shoe, and then wags its stumpy tail, big bug-eyes nearly popping out of its head.

"Get lost," Jeff tells it. The dog rolls onto its back. He suddenly misses Smile; he's a real dog, not a substitute for a football like this little annoyance.

A teenager rounds the corner, following the little girl from inside the house. Jeff decides that this is Minerva.

She takes one look at him and turns very pale.

Jeff's fingers close around the handle of his knife.

The little girl hides behind her sister's legs, playing a role more than anything else.

"You were at the book shop," Minerva says. She's regaining control.

Jeff nods. "Bus fare," he says.

"You're named Jeff, right?"

"Yes."

"Lea said it was a weird coincidence: your name and how you look."

Jeff meets her eyes and looks away immediately. Lea's been covering for him pretty well. He's not going to spoil all her hard work.

"It is," he says, doing his best to sound resigned.

"I don't believe it," Minerva says, "it's too convenient."

"You should. People don't become monsters from being burned alive. That stuff happens all the time and none of those people become serial killers. It doesn't work that way."

Minerva blinks, "Actually, ya, you're right about that."

"No," Jeff says, "you'd need something else to turn someone into something not human, something sentient and powerful."

"Uh…"

"Besides, I'm not your problem right now. Worry about Lea."

"Why would Lea be a problem?" Minerva asks.

Jeff smirks, "She's worse than me when the mood takes her, and if she's been here for eleven months I imagine she's getting pretty desperate."

There's real fear in Minerva's eyes, and Jeff feels that familiar sadistic thrill at the sight, but he can't let himself get carried away.

"Take the cotton ball with you," He says, poking the small dog with one toe.

Minerva snatches the animal off the ground and hurries back into the house.

Jeff hears her say, "Mom, that guy—" and then the sound of Kaylee shouting about Minerva's "obsession with the absurd and impossibly foolish." He smirks a little.

Ten minutes later he's worried again. Lea should not be gone this long without telling someone where she's going. He's starting to think she's dead.

A figure moves in the distance. Jeff's eyes snap to it. It's Lea, walking slowly, her head down. Jeff feels fear constrict his windpipe. That is not good.

He stands up, watching Lea approach. There's a bruise forming on her right arm, just below the scar.

She raises her head about twenty feet away, and Jeff sees and angry red spot on her face. One eye is already starting to swell. Even through the marks he can tell when Lea's face lights up, and Jeff feels warmth inside him mix with the guilt.

Lea runs at him. Jeff flinches, pulling his hands out of his pocket. He catches her in the hug he knows is coming and rocks her back and forth. Just like that, Lea is crying. Jeff has seen her cry before, but this isn't like that. This isn't pain: it's confusion and sadness and fear. He doesn't know what to do.

"Lea," Jeff says, "I'm sorry."

"What for?" She asks, her voice constricted with tears, but none coming from her eyes. She steps back. The bruise on her face is a pale purple, almost lavender.

"Who did this?" Jeff asks, ignoring the question.

"He's in worse shape than me," and then, "Jeff, I almost killed him. I need help. I really need help."

Jeff swallows, "I know."

"Please," She says, and it is fear in her eyes now, real and terrifying.

He takes a deep breath, "I'm going to get you some right now. Let's go inside."

Lea looks confused, but she nods, "Okay."

They walk together to the house. Lea puts her head down as they enter, hiding the bruises.

"Head up," Jeff says, catching her arm and making her wince.

Lea looks at him, then pulls up her hood and ducks lower, "You're one to talk."

"It's better to own it."

She sighs and straightens up, but leaves the hood on, "Okay, but I'm going right upstairs to shower."

Jeff pauses, "Are you bleeding?"

"No." She opens the door and walks in before he can inquire further.

"Lea?!" Kaylee exclaims, rushing into the room, "what happened?"

The girl shoots Jeff a withering glance, "You see why this was a bad idea?"

He just shrugs.

"I'm taking a shower," Lea says, not even glancing at the woman. The meowing of a cat follows her up the stairs.

Kaylee watches her go, then turns accusatory eyes on Jeff. The man doesn't flinch.

"Can I borrow your phone?" He asks.

"You may," she replies coldly and turns away.

Jeff pushes down his nervousness and reaches for the phone in its cradle. Jack is going to kill him.


	49. Chapter 49: Jack

**AN:** We now return you to your regularly scheduled updates. Once a week, every week until further notice. Oh, and I finished the rough draft! Yay~! The final length is 74 chapters long, so if you don't want to read all that, I suggest you get off the ride before the countdown ends.

* * *

**11**

* * *

**Reviews:**

**Superkassu:** Well, here's Jack's reaction. Have fun! Happy new year to you too.

* * *

[26] Calling

5 June, 11:25 PM

49\. Jack

Jack kicks the door so hard it flies off its hinges. He groans: he always does that, too much extra energy.

He steps into the building and sets down his backpack then turns and lifts the door back into place. It doesn't fit quite right, and never will again. Like a few people he knows.

Jack lets himself fall back onto a pile of relatively soft rags. They're mildewed and rotting, but it's the best thing available in the shack.

He isn't really tired, but he needs to rest. He knows he needs to rest.

He also knows it's time to give up. It's been nearly eleven months it's time to return to normalcy.

Jack eyes the rotting support beams in the ceiling. He's unsure whether or not they'll support his weight. He gives up thinking about it, resolving to find out in a few minutes.

He fishes around in his bag until he comes out with a lighter and then pulls out his photograph of Lea. Jack stares at it for a minute, counting names and faces in his head. How many will this be? 12, 13? She's not unique: there have been so many others and doubtless there will be many more.

Jack feels a sudden empathy for the Slenderman. You never really forget the first one. He should know: he carries those memories like a gold bar, precious but immensely heavy.

He sighs and flicks the lighter.

the trill of the pre-paid cell phone makes him jump and he drops the flame. It catches one of the rags on fire and jack impatiently pats it out.

He picks up the phone and practically crushes the call button in his rush. He takes the time to calm down before speaking.

"What?" he snaps into the speaker, not caring it he offends the person on the other end.

"Hey, Jack," Jeff's voice says.

Jack sighs, "Oh, it's you."

But Jeff doesn't rise to the challenge as he usually does. "I'm dead for this," he mutters.

Jack doesn't point out the obvious: that Jeff is already dead.

Jeff takes a deep breath, "I know where Lea is."

Jack blinks for a second, then says, "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"You've mistaken people before."

"I've been here since February: I'm sure." The killer knows what he's just said: he's getting the worst out of the way.

"Jeffery Robert woods," Jack says with feeling, "when I'm done with you you'll wish you had died in that fire."

There's a sharp intake of breath on the line, and it's definitely not the Killer's.

"I know," Jeff says.

"Do you know what kind of danger you're risking? Never mind you, but Lea's condition isn't stable and—"

"I know," Jeff says, "She almost killed her boyfriend."

Jack pauses, "Almost?"

"he's still breathing,"

"And?"

"She's bruised up pretty bad."

Jack decides he really is going to kill Jeff, slowly and painfully. "Where are you?"

Jeff tells him.

Jack sighs, "I can be there by tomorrow."

"Ya…" Jeff trails off.

Jack cocks his head to the side, "What is it?"

"There are a couple of kids staring at me. It's a tad creepy."

"Where are you?"

"In the house of the family Lea is staying with, in the kitchen, I think."

Jack doesn't ask why Jeff can't tell what room he's in. Instead he asks an important question, "How long?"

"Three days."

Jack nearly hits the roof he stands up so fast. It's not a very high ceiling. "What are you thinking?!"

"Jack, it's okay: I—"

"Leave. Right now."

"Yes, _father_." Jeff stresses the word.

Jack takes a breath, "Sorry."

"You don't trust my judgement. I don't blame you."

"Nah. I'm just hungry: short temper."

"You don't have to remind me," the Killer is clearly still a little mad over Jack's words.

"I'll give you a nice kiss later," Jack says in a way that is meant to be sarcastic.

Jeff pauses for a second, "Tempting."

Jack chuckles, "The safe house is open. You know the one?"

"You mean the one you and Ben tried to play Risk in?"

Jack winces, "Don't remind me."

This time Jeff is the one who chuckles, "I know where it is."

"I'll meet you there. Hurry: you're buying dinner."

"If I must." Jeff hangs up, but the line doesn't die.

"Hello," Jack says softly.

"Hi," Someone says, undoubtedly female, but not Lea.

"What's your name?"

"Minerva."

"Nice to meet you, Minerva. I'm Jack."

"You yelled at him."

Jack frowns, "Pardon?"

"You yelled at Jeff."

Guilt claws itself a nest in Jack's chest, "I know. I'm going to be making it up to him for the next week."

She doesn't seem to notice the implications of that statement, "Is he…?"

"Is he Jeff the Killer?" Jack asks.

"Ya."

Jack smiles, "The question you should be asking is, 'Why would Lea be hanging out with Jeff the Killer?' especially if you told her who he is."

Silence for a moment, "I'm not sure."

Jack sighs, "This is what happens when you get mixed up in these things."

"And are we now?"

Jack thinks about it for a moment, "Yes, probably. If you weren't before you are now."

"Oh."

"See you tomorrow," jack says cheerfully. He flicks the phone closed and stuffs it back into his bag.

The picture still in his fingers looks up at him. Big blue eyes seem to ask him, "You didn't really lose hope, did you?"

Jack answers, "I've lost too much not to lose hope. You'll have to forgive me."

"I already have," the picture says.

Jack slips it into his back pocket. It could be worse: he could be talking to a wall. It wouldn't be the first time.


	50. Chapter 50: Slender

**AN:** It's finals next week. I hope you guys appreciate what I'm doing for you. JK: I'm not studying.

This is gonna sound weird, but would you guys want to read a crossover between the Skullduggery Pleasant series and this fanfiction? It wouldn't be about Lea or Slender. It would be from Valkyrie's perspective, and would take place approximately five years before any of the stuff in this series of fics started happening. Anyone interested?

Also *cough cough* if anyone knows where I can get the audiobook version of _The Dying of the Light _in the U.S. I would be eternally grateful. I have every other book in the series, don't ask me how.

* * *

**Reviews:**

**Superkassu:** I'm glad it was so intense. Jack is PISSED, and it entertains me.

**Lol(Guest) on Lifetime**: (I had to respond to this because it's amazing and I couldn't stop laughing for five minutes.) Don't go throwing my manuscript around! Or your computer! Or whatever you smashed on the floor in your ancient Norse ritual of "I want another one of these."

* * *

[27] A Simple Explanation/Panic

6 June, 12:15 PM

50\. Slender

The day gets interesting, as most days do, when Natasha walks into the room. I'm almost happy to see her, to relieve the boredom, but what she says next changes that.

"Okay," Natasha raises her hands in surrender, "I'm tired of Mitch dancing around the subject. Who's Lea?"

I don't reply for a long moment, then I say, "Lea is my personal.

Natasha snorts, "I'm your personal."

"As long as Lea is alive," I say, annoyance surfacing, "she holds the title."

"Isn't she dead?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Natasha shuts up and I look back to what I'm doing. I realize I've read the same passage half a dozen times now. I've been feeling a tad weird all day. I keep getting distracted by a low throbbing in my cheek.

One long-fingered hand strays there, but when I press down the pain doesn't increase. Is it an echo from Lea?

"What was she like?" Natasha says.

I feel the smile in my mind as I consider the question. "Lea is," I start, pause to gather my thoughts, "Lea is shattered. She's broken and sick, sadistic and a little unhinged."

"Okay," She says slowly, "that is not what I was expecting you to say."

"But," I say, "Lea is sweet and considerate, kind, and thoughtful. She's just not inclined to show those qualities."

The woman stays silent, maybe guessing that now that I've started I can't stop.

"Lea has an affinity for…people like me, and it's partly because of me and the changing, but it's not all because of that."

Natasha looks up from pulling out a chair, "She changed you?"

"Yes," I say, "it's one reason why she's my personal."

"She knows what it's like?"

"It's incredibly painful," I state.

"I've heard it's great, like a thrill ride."

I would roll my eyes if I could. If I had eyes. "It sets off an adrenaline rush if that's what you mean. Lea actually passed out."

Her eyes widen behind the mask, "Was she epileptic or something?"

"No," I say, and leave it at that. She was just drugged and paralyzed.

"You said she was sick."

"She is. She takes medicine twice a day. Or she did, before she was lost."

"So won't she die from that?"

"No. It wasn't that kind of disease."

"Oh.

"I'm rather concerned," I say, "about your fixation on Lea's death."

"You're referring to her in the present tense."

My hand strays again to the sore spot on my face. "She's alive. I can tell."

"Mentally?"

"Yes."

"Oh. I guess that makes sense."

There's a silence that doesn't bother me but clearly makes Natasha uncomfortable.

Finally Natasha says, "You miss her."

I produce a harsh bark of laughter in her head, making her flinch. "Every day without her is hell."

She speaks with a growing understanding, "That's why you're here: you're waiting for her."

"And looking for her," I say, "and dealing with the hunters, and making sure that no one goes through this place looking for DNA samples, or with a camera." But mostly looking for Lea.

I catch a thought from her, as I often do when a revelation occurs to a human: "I can't compete with that."

Despite myself I feel a twinge of sympathy. "There's nothing to compete over," I say, doing my best to sound soothing.

Natasha stops, remains perfectly still for a moment, and then she's on her feet and angry, "did you just read my mind?!"

"Not intentionally."

"Nothing to compete over?" She says, "there's everything to compete over! I've lived my life for the past few months in this place because of her, and you're obsessed with her, and I bet if she had ever come on to you, you would have responded."

If Natasha has been "coming on" to me, I've missed it entirely.

"Probably," I admit, though I'm not sure. Natasha takes a breath to start ranting again. "But," I say, with enough force to quiet her, "Lea never would have tried."

"And why the hell not?"

I pause, thinking, and I decide I should just say it. If they ever come face-to-face, which I desperately hope they someday do, Natasha will benefit from the information as much as Lea will benefit from her already knowing it.

"Lea was almost raped," I say, "she has a fear of sexual contact." Or she did. If my instincts are right, Lea's lost her virginity.

"Oh," She stays quiet for almost a full minute. "Almost?"

"I stopped it," I say, and leave it at that. My fingers go back, yet again, to the sore spot on my face. I'm suddenly very tired. I think something is very wrong with Lea. She might be hurt, probably not seriously, but still hurt.

Natasha is talking, but I'm not listening. There are other things I'm thinking about. Talking about Lea has reopened a hole deep inside me, and all I want to do is find her.

I flicker out of existence. I briefly imagine Natasha shouting at the empty chair, but then that's gone too.

I start reaching out from inside the gray place and brush over the minds of humans. The light from them burns still, but not nearly as painfully as some.

I know what I'm looking for: that illusive glow that doesn't hurt me. She has to be out there somewhere, and from here I can reach everywhere.

I find just such a light not far away at all, and I focus on it, but it's not Lea. It's another, and they flinch away.

I withdraw with a convulsive shudder. I forgot how much that hurts. A moment later I reach out again. It has to be done. I have to find her, or we might not last another day.


	51. Chapter 51: Jack

**AN:** I had finals last week and this semester I have the equivalent of three College Level courses, so if I don't upload as regularly as I have been, you know why.

* * *

**Review:**

**SuperKassu: **I didn't plan for Natasha to actually have a personality, believe me. As for meeting Lea… all in good time.

* * *

(I forgot to do the countdown last week. Whoops) **9**

* * *

[28] Eyes

6 June, 3:05 PM

51\. Jack

Jack approaches the bookstore with hesitation. From behind him, Jeff snickers.

"What's wrong, Jacky," the Killer says, "still nursing that crush?"

Jack just sighs. Jeff loves to make fun of him. The truth is it's kind of endearing; Jack doesn't get teased very often, but the fact that he's sort of right doesn't make this any easier.

"Not a crush," Jack says, "a fascination."

"For you, that's a crush."

Jack turns and looks at the man. Jeff is standing with both hands shoved deep in his pockets, scuffing one shoe back and forth on the sidewalk. Despite his words, he doesn't look particularly interested.

"You realize we're going to have to give her back, right?" Jack says, "For her own good."

Jeff scowls, "Sure, but if you can go in there and have a conversation, and when you come back out honestly tell me that you don't want to keep her just as she is, I'll be damned surprised."

Jack can't blame him for being touchy. It's hard to share, and some part of Jeff must realize that Lea pays more attention to Jack. That can't be easy to handle.

Jack turns back around and walking into the bookstore, leaving Jeff to lean against the wall.

The girl at the counter looks up and gives Jack a customer-service sort of smile. She goes back to her textbook. For a moment Jack doesn't recognize her, and he thinks Jeff has made a mistake, but then she tilts her head a little to the right and looks at Jack out of the corner of her eye. The familiarity of that gesture slams into him. It is Lea.

She's grown. She's hit that growth spurt Jack has been expecting her to hit for two years. Her hair is longer, like she hasn't cut it for as long as she's been her, and she's tan, Jack has to look twice to make sure he's seen correctly, but it's actually real. Lea's once porcelain-white skin is tan, not dark, but noticeable.

There are other changes too, changes Jeff wouldn't have noticed, as he regards her almost as a sister. Some of the muscle has gone from her. She's all soft around the edges. The growth spurt has pulled in her waist and flared out her hips. Her chest has grown quite a bit too, but Jack suspects that this change is mostly because of Lea's fondness for sports bras: an understandable and logical choice given her line of work, but whoever is buying her clothes has put a stop to it. He imagines that her legs have followed suit with the rest of her, though he can't see them.

She's not a girl anymore, not in anything except name.

Lea straightens up to look at Jack properly, and the being realizes he must have been staring. Still, he looks at her face and warmth spreads through him. She still has Lea's face: pronounce cheekbones, thin nose, small chin, and those big blue eyes. They have loneliness in them now, not the fire he remembers.

"Can I help you?" Lea asks.

Jack is ready for that one, "Yes actually. Do you have any books on medicine?"

She chews on the inside of her cheek, "Recent or historical?"

Jack smiles ironically at that, "Recent."

She nods, "Over in the back corner." She moves her head to show which direction.

"Thanks," he can feel her watching him as he moves deeper into the shop. It sends uneasy tingles down his spine. She already knows there's something different about him.

Jack hurries into the corner and out of sight. There he finds, to his surprise, three different used medical textbooks. This is nice because his last one is soaked so thoroughly with various fluids it is practically illegible. He takes a moment to check the copyright dates and then digs into the most recent one. He's not so far into it he doesn't hear Lea approach.

Jack looks back over his shoulder, and she's leaning against a bookcase just looking at him, the same way he looked at her. She's frowning, like she can't place a thought, and Jack has a sudden thought. What if the block didn't take right? What has she been seeing all this time?

"Found everything alright?" She asks.

"Yes," Jack says. It might be his imagination, but it looks like a shiver goes through her at the sound of his voice.

"You've been back here for fifteen minutes," She says.

He looks down at the book and sees he's taken a good chunk out of it. "Sorry. I do that sometimes."

"Uh-huh. Well, it's the end of my shift soon. I thought I should check before I go."

Jack blinks behind his glasses, "Right. I'll be there im a moment."

Lea nods and turns away.

He trails her to the counter and sets the book down. Lea rings him up with an automatic disinterest. The dull pain in her eyes is almost too much to bear.

Jack hands over cash, then just waits there, unsure of what to do. He wants to say something, but he doesn't know what.

Finally he says, "Where'd you get that bruise?"

Lea's hand jumps to her left cheek, pressing lightly on the bruised area. Her eyes flick down and she says, "Boyfriend." An honest answer, which tells Jack that she does know he's not normal.

Despite himself, he feels a touch of anger.

"He's in worse shape than I am," Lea says.

Jack grins, "I'm not surprised."

"You do it too," Lea blurts, "you and Jeff."

"Do what?"

"Talk like you know me."

He sighs, closing his eyes, "Well I guess we do. I spent long enough staring at you."

"I thought you'd seen a ghost," She half-jokes.

"In some ways I did." Jack leans on the counter, getting comfortable. He's forgotten what talking is like. "No memories then?"

"No. Jeff told you?"

"No: Mitch did."

"Who?"

"A friend. Anything weird? Are you having flashbacks?"

Lea blinks, "You are the first person to ask me that. Usually they just say 'do you remember anything?'"

Jack just tilts his head.

"Yes I get flashbacks."

"You see weird stuff?"

"I used to think it was weird, then I made friends with Jeff the Killer."

Jack smiles, "You haven't changed at all, even with all those missing memories."

"My whole life, ya."

"You see, that makes sense to me, but anyone else would be really confused by it."

Lea pauses for a few seconds, "So you know me from before?" Again Jack sees the loneliness in her eyes, that longing.

"I do," He admits, "but I'm not that thing you really want and I should make that clear now."

"I didn't think you were, but you know I want something so that's a start."

Jack looks at Lea for a few seconds, and she looks right back at him. He feels a smile pull at his mouth, threatening to reveal his sharp teeth.

"This would be much easier if I could see your eyes," she says.

Jack steps back reflexively and sees her face soften slightly. "Not a good idea," he says.

"Why not?"

"It tends to shock people."

"Oh," she barely misses a beat, "you're friends with Jeff?"

Jack grins, this time showing the points of his teeth, "That's one way to put it."

"Are you his boyfriend?"

Jack bursts out laughing. It's mostly relief, joy at finding Lea, guilt over her pain, anger, and a hundred other emotions, but thank god she's back. "No," he says finally, "I'm not his boyfriend."

She takes a breath to say something, but her eyes flicker behind him, and instantly that customer service smile is back.

"Thank you, sir," she says, handing over a few coins.

Jack looks behind him. A very grumpy-looking man is standing in the doorway at the back of the shop. He glares at Jack, and all the being wants to do is tear him apart for cutting his talk with Lea short.

He forces a smile, "Thank you. You've been a huge help."

He walks out. Behind him, Jack can hear Lea dodging a hailstorm of questions.

Jeff is still against the wall, smoking a cigarette. Jack plucks it out of his fingers and stamps it out in a nearby ashtray built into the top of a trashcan.

"So?" Jeff says, choosing to ignore the action.

Jack is genuinely pissed off. He walks past the man and keeps walking because if he stops he'll whack Jeff across the jaw and probably break something.

The killed hangs back several feet, well aware of the danger.

Finally, half a block later, Jack stops at a crosswalk, waiting for the light. "You realize she's about a week from killing herself?"

"What?" Jeff says, pulling up short.

Jack bunches his fists at his sides, "She's about as obviously depressed as anyone I've ever seen."

"What?!" The man sounds shocked.

"And I used to wonder why she had mood swings," Jack says to himself."

"Oh hell," Jeff says, as he understands.

Jack just nods, "So, no, I don't want to keep her just as she is."

"She always seemed fine when I was around."

"Being around us might produce the same effect as being near her master, but we can't be here all the time."

"Ya. I know."

Jack turns to face Jeff, "You owe her an apology. You've put her through hell."

"No need to guilt trip me."

Behind him Jack hears the chirping of a walk symbol. He steps off the curb and walks across the street backwards, staring at Jeff the whole time.

"You're made your point," the Killer growls, and Jack turns on hi heel so Jeff won't see the grin on his face.

"I hate you," Jeff says, sounding like a child.

Jack just laughs.


	52. Chapter 52: Lea

**AN:** I have three hard classes this semester. What I'm trying to say is that I'm going to be drowning in Homework, so don't expect regular updates from me. I'll do what I can, but I have two tests next week and it's only going to get harder from now on.

* * *

**Reviews:**

**Superkassu:** You sister sounds like…pretty much everyone that I know. You're not going to like it. I'm not going to hide that fact. You aren't going to have one bit of fun at the end of this. There's going to be a period of about a week where you're going to be very angry at me.

* * *

**7 (honestly though I've lost track)**

* * *

[28] Eyes

6 June, 5:00 PM

52\. Lea

I'm staring at the ceiling, thinking. Every few minutes the sounds of movement disturb me, but I don't move.

I'm sinking slowly back into that unfeeling numb state. It hurts. The man in the book store threw me off my pattern. He didn't know it, but he did. He's like Jeff: not human, and he affected me the same way.

All I can do now is wait for the aching in my chest to stop.

I didn't even get his name.

I twist the ring on my finger, slipping it partly off, just enough to break contact with my skin, then slide it back on again.

I hear the knocking at the door downstairs, and my eyes fly open. I sit upright, sending a blur of black and white back into the closet, and jump to my feet.

I yank the trapdoor open and scramble down the ladder, but I somehow already know what I'll see downstairs. My heart is beating out of my chest with excitement.

I stop at the top of the stairs and watch while Kaylee opens the door.

"Oh," she says, "it's you and-," but her voice fades out.

"Jack," A man's voice says, full and smooth, "nice to meet you, Mrs. Higgins."

Kaylee sticks out a hand for a handshake, and the man clears his throat.

"No," he says, "not a good idea."

I take three steps down the stairs, then one back up, then another.

Jeff's voice then, rough around the edges, "Is Lea here?" Typically tactless.

Poe meows at me from the top of the stairs.

"Yes," Kaylee says, suspicious.

"May we come in?" The man asks.

There's a moment of silence. "No," Kaylee says, and starts to shut the door.

A hand shoots out and stops it effortlessly. "With all respect," the smooth voice says, "I've been searching for this girl for eleven months, and I will be damned if you stop me now."

He shoves the door open, and steps into the house. Kaylee stumbles back a couple steps, and then puffs up like a rooster. In the doorway is the man from the bookstore.

I'm downstairs before Kaylee can start shouting and in between her and him, looking at Kaylee. I start to tell her it's okay, but my mouth has barely opened when I'm pulled around and into the fierce hug the man called Jack gives me.

He's freezing cold: much too cold to be human, but right then I don't care. It's obvious he knows me, really knows me, and cares about me. Jeff cares too, but there's a definite difference.

I bury my face in his chest and breathe in the coppery tang of blood and the sharpness of rubbing alcohol, and that same unmistakable musky smell Jeff has, like some kind of pheromone.

Jack, being a good half foot taller than me, has to lean over slightly to rest his forehead against my hair. Just that action sets off sets off a rush of blurred half-memories. I remember a thousand hugs like this one, and people resting their heads against mine, or on my shoulder. It makes me physically twitch, and Jack lets go of me immediately.

He holds me at arm's length, a frown creasing his brow, and says, "Was that a flashback?"

I barely register the abrupt change of pace. I nod, afraid if I try to speak that I'll cry. The things are gone already, and my head feels emptier than before.

Kaylee, I notice, is looking very confused. I turn to face her and say, with forced calm, "They know me from before."

The look of confusion only grows more pronounced.

"But Jeff-,"

Jack cuts her off, "was being selfish and inconsiderate, and if he ever does it again, I'll kill him."

Coming out of his mouth the last three words don't sound like a joke, but I've been around Jeff enough to know it won't last even if he makes good on the threat.

I look back to Jeff, but he's looking down, shoulders hunched, like a kid that's just been told off for playing too rough. He doesn't look at me. I suddenly see Jack in a new light. Whoever he is, he's Jeff's superior or elder or something else entirely, but anyone who can make Jeff sheepish is someone to be respected.

Jack tilts his head slightly, looking at me, "What did you see?"

Right: the flashbacks. "Not much. Things, people, but nothing clear."

"And that's what it's like all the time?"

"Yes. It's always blurred."

"That is interesting…" He trails off and walks past Kaylee and sets his backpack against a wall. Jeff follows behind him, a kicked puppy.

It's only then that I shake off the endorphin daze of proximity enough to look around. The twins are watching form the sofa, interested but not alarmed. Po is staring with huge yellow eyes. Minerva, Janey and Kip are nowhere to be seen, which is lucky.

Then I see Kaylee's face and my stomach sinks. I'm in for it.

"Lea," she says quietly, dangerously, "explain yourself."

Despite the act that I've almost killed someone in the past week, I take a step back.

Jack rescues me. I'm starting to really like him. He has a good sense of when he's needed. "Lea," he says, "come over here, please."

I obediently approach, content to obey someone who can pull Jeff the Killer around on puppet strings. Jack kicks a chair out from the table. I sit in it, and he pulls out another to sit behind me, not beside me.

"How's your arm?" Jack asks.

I frown, "What would be wrong with my arm?"

"The scar. Deep muscle trauma."

"Oh. It's fine."

"No weird pains or stiffness?" He's testing my arm, pressing on the inside of my elbow and examining the scar.

"It's bruised right now." I wince as he finds the purple spot.

"How'd that happen?"

My eyes flick to Kaylee, but my mouth is already telling the truth. "I got thrown against a bed frame."

He just nods like that's a completely normal thing to say. "But other than that?"

"No. Honestly I wouldn't have noticed. I'm left handed."

Jeff speaks up now, concerned. "You're ambidextrous."

"Or you were," Jeff corrects, "before half your brain was cut off."

I close my eyes, "Please, say you don't mean that literally."

"Don't worry. You brain is intact."

I sense we're approaching the real reason why they're here, what they're mixed up in, but I feel the opportunity slip away even as I take a breath to speak. I let it out, my mind stalling and refusing to spit anything out.

Instead I dig in my pocket and pop a red candy into my mouth. If Jack or Jeff notice they don't react.

"Coughing fits," Jack goes on, "vomiting?"

"Um," I look over at Kaylee. She's still glaring. Jeff actually has one hand in his pocket and I know his fingers are on the knife. I instinctively reach out and touch his arm.

The killer relaxes slowly, grudgingly. He removes his hand from his pocket. I'm very nervous all of a sudden. I don't want a blood bath, not now, not here.

I tug Jeff a bit closer to me, close enough that I can tackle him if I need to.

"Lea," Jack says. He's not testing the muscles in my arm anymore, but I hear the question in his voice.

"No," I say.

"Almost every night then?"

I take a breath to protest and then just say, "Ya."

"Well, we're not in too much trouble yet," he says, almost to himself.

I choose not to answer, rubbing the coldness out of my right arm with my left hand. Kaylee is still glaring.

"You can look at me all you want; I have no answers," I tell her.

I see the shock in her gaze, and I realize with a jolt that I haven't spoken honestly to her once, not once, since I got her.

"Ah, shit," I say under my breath.

Jeff snorts and I glare at him.

Minerva comes through the front door, followed closely by Janey and Kip, who is luckily on a leash. The small white dog begins to throw himself towards me frantically, snarling.

"Keep that thing away from me," Jeff and I say together. We look at each other, surprised, while Jack chuckles.

Minerva is frozen in shock, staring at Jeff. His fingers slide back into the pocket of his jacket.

Jack twists around to see what has the Killer so worked up, and Minerva throws her hands up.

"God have mercy on us all," she says, "Eyeless Jack is sitting at my kitchen table!" Displaying remarkable composure, she bends down to unclip Kip from his leash.

"Minerva," Kaylee scolds, glad to have someone to take out her frustration on, "For the last time that stuff is not real."

Kip comes rushing across the room, and both Jeff and I scramble backwards up onto the table. I pull my feet up when Kip starts trying to bite my ankles.

Kaylee turns on me immediately, "Get your feet off the table," she snaps.

I have to fight down an insane smile. I love everything about this situation, except for the Pomeranian threatening to bite my toes off.

Jack catches the dog by the scruff of the neck, "I guess that answers the 'who told Lea about Jeff question." Kip attempts to bite Jack's fingers, snarling and the being tilts his head slightly.

I feel a sudden pulse that chills my blood. My body tenses and I instinctively move towards Jeff. Kip whines in fear.

Jack pats the head of the now complacent animal and sets him down. Jeff and I gingerly lower our feet back to the ground. Kip crawls behind Jeff's legs and huddles there, his tail close to the ground.

Minerva is standing up again, and she adds her stare to her mother's as she looks at me. An uneasy prickle goes up my spine.

"Lea," Minerva says, "what the hell is going on?"

"I have no idea," I say, "but I sort of like it."

The twins have crept closer I notice. We're surrounded on three sides by people, all staring at us. I reach out and touch Jeff's arm again. The tension goes out of him again, but I know it's only a matter of time before I can't keep him in check.

"Then you tell us," Minerva looks at Jeff. The man shifts nervously and looks at Jack, who sighs.

"There is no good way to say this-" he starts, and is immediately interrupted by someone knocking on the door.


	53. Chapter 53: Lea

**AN:** I cut out an entire chapter here. If things seems a little choppy, let me know and I'll try to smooth is out. This is going to be a long enough fanfiction without entire unnecessary chapters in it.

* * *

**Reviews:**

**Guest: **My new favorite review, followed closely by one of the first I got on Lifetime: "What the ****."

**SuperKassu: **Sorry about the cliffhanger, but if I didn't use them at this point there would be one chapter about 10,000 words long. Some people have that time of time. I don't.

* * *

**6 now, I think**

* * *

[29] Interruptions

6 June, 6:00 PM

53\. Lea

I can't help it: I start laughing.

Jack and Jeff watch me, concern on Jack's face, but confusion on Jeff.

"Sorry," I say, "it's just this is all so crazy."

Kaylee strides over and looks out the front window.

Minerva appears from the next room, flushed with embarrassment but triumphant.

"Lea," Jack says, "are you okay?"

I take a deep breath to calm myself down, "Ya: I'm fine."

Kaylee opens the front door. Immediately both of the men tense and I feel myself respond to their nervousness.

The woman on the other side of the door is tall and dark. She has a very business-like air about her. I like her almost immediately.

Then I see the look on Jack's face and I change my mind. Something is wrong.

The woman looks right past Kaylee, and her eyes land on me then flick to Jack.

"Damn," she says, "and here I thought I might beat you."

Jack moves to me and pulls me against his chest, not like he's protecting me, but like I'm holding him up.

My fingers are suddenly itching for something to hold but I just ball my hands into fists. Jack puts some of his weight on me.

The woman frowns a little.

A man pushes past her, pushing Hobo-Heart in front of him. A large black dog trots in behind him.

Jeff says something under his breath that I wish he wouldn't with Janey in the room, but I agree.

The man steps into the house. He has a nice face with a strong jaw and his shoulders are broad and muscled. There's something about his eyes though, both alien in the sense that I've never seen them on someone else before, but familiar in a way that tells me we're more similar than I would maybe like. I tense when he steps over the threshold, brushing past Kaylee with a slight nod.

The man bends slightly and unlocks the handcuffs binding Hobo's wrists. The creature in turn darts forward and throws his arms around Jeff.

I decide not to try to figure out what's going on anymore.

Jeff looks like he's resigned to his fate, and he does his best to comfort Hobo. The whatever-he-is seems traumatized.

The man who uncuffed Hobo looks at me, "Did you have to be in the last place we looked?"

I don't reply. I've decided to stop talking.

He frowns at me.

Kaylee loses it, "What in God's name is going on now?!"

I just look at the woman. She looks right back at me and I can't read her expression. Then she flashes a brilliant smile and turns to Kaylee.

"I'm Ana," she says, shaking the shorter woman's hand, "and he's Mitch, but don't expect a greeting."

The dog walks up and sniffs at my hand. He puts his head against my leg and pushes until I scratch his ears.

"And that's Rabbit," Ana finishes. "As for what's actually going on, your guess is as good as mine. Mitch won't tell me."

"The last thing we need is your Organization with a trump card," Mitch explodes, "do you know how much damage you could do with this girl?!"

Ana turns on him, "And I told you at least ten timed: I told Jack I'd call you as soon as I found her."

"They've been doing this for three hours," Hobo-Heart says in his slow soft voice. The dog whines in agreement.

"Promises from you don't mean anything," Mitch goes on.

"And you're any better?" Ana shoots back.

"At least I can be trusted to follow orders. Where do your superiors think you are?"

Ana doesn't have an answer for that so she switches to attacking him directly. "I've accessed your criminal record, Mitch McJonas, I know how many restraining orders are filed against you."

Jeff pushes Hobo-Heart out the back door onto the porch. Jack lets go of me and sits on his chair again. I sink back into my own. The dog puts its head on my knee and blinks at me through intelligent yellow eyes.

Kip barks at it half-heartedly and gets no response.

"Occupational hazard," Mitch responds.

"Oh please,"

"You try following people around sometime and see how good you are at it."

"Except one of them was filed when you were sixteen."

Jack gets up without a word and follows Jeff outside.

Ana glances around, sees that they're gone, and says, "Whoops."

I scratch Rabbit's ears. "You're making them nervous." They're making me nervous too.

"Ya," Mitch says, "that happens." He takes a closer look at me, "You actually hit your growth spurt. That's a surprise."

I just look at him. I'm getting very used to people I don't know talking as if they're familiar with me.

Mitch shifts uncomfortably. "Right," he says, "the block."

Minerva can't stay quiet any longer. "You're with the SCP foundation?" she asks Ana.

"No," Ana replies, "those science nuts have their own agenda. We deal with what they can't."

Mitch is in his backpack. He hauls out a laptop then the battery and slots it into place.

"But then who?" Minerva looks perplexed.

"The Organization," Ana says, "you probably haven't hear of—"

"Oh my god," Minerva says, "you're telling me this involves Slenderman?"

I feel something squirm in the back of my head, a memory trying, rather painfully, to break free. I rub at the side of my head.

"No," Minerva goes on. "you're telling me Slenderman actually exists?"

"She's heard of it," Mitch says without looking up."

"I figured that out," Ana snaps at him.

I can't hold my tongue any longer, "What's a Slenderman?"

They both look at me for a long moment. Ana is shocked, but Mitch is displaying some other emotion.

"That," he says, "is the single most heartbreaking thing you've ever said to me." I realize that's pity in his eyes. It makes me feel sick.

Mitch sets the laptop on the table and powers it on. The machine buzzes unpleasantly and Mitch slaps the keyboard.

"Come on," he growls, "work."

The computer complies grudgingly.

"Minerva," Kaylee says, and from her tone of voice I know that if there weren't guests in the house that she would be yelling.

Minerva ignores her and turns to me, "Didn't you read that stuff I sent you?"

"No," I reply.

'Why not?"

"It felt like spying."

"Lea," Mitch says, and I note that I never told him my name, "would you grab Jeff?"

I get up without thinking, "What should I tell him?"

"I need Ben to fix this computer."

I pause but then shrug and go to the door. Behind me Kaylee takes the opportunity to pull Minerva aside and berate for bringing up such foolish things as internet horror stories. I'm not brave enough to tell her who's right.

Janey has followed me to the door, and I scoop her up before I open it. I think that what the Laughing Jack stuff means is that they won't touch her.

I open the back door and step outside. They're in the shadows. Jack has one hand pressed flat against Hobo-Heart's chest, the other with two fingers against his neck, taking a pulse.

"No," He says, "completely regular. Your heart if fine."

I pause, uncertain how to react to Hobo. He looks up at me, His eyes are luminous blue in the dark.

Jack tilts his head, "Hello, Lea."

"How'd you guess?" I ask.

"Heartbeat sped up."

I put Janey down because she's squirming and turn to Jeff. "Mitch says he wants you to get Ben for him."

Jeff growls in annoyance and stalks past me into the house.

Hobo starts to follow him but Janey stops him by grabbing his hand and tugging at it. He looks down at her.

"What's on your face?" she asks.

Hobo raises a hand to the markings around his eyes, "This is just how I look."

Janey pulls him with her, childlike and excited, leaving me alone with Jack.

"What's wrong with his heart?" I ask.

"It's wearing out, but right now nothing." He sighs, "Jeff says he's having panic attacks, thinking it's stopping."

"Why?"

"He spent about twelve hours without one."

I wince, "Ouch."

"You okay?" He asks.

"I nod, "Fine."

"You're scared of something." He's obviously seeing right through me.

I don't reply, and Jack walks over and loops his arms around me again. He squeezes hard, but at this point I don't care. I am absolutely terrified about being thrown out into the wind and not having anyone anymore. I don't want to be alone.

When he senses that I've moved through the fear a little Jack physically picks me up and carries me into the house. He puts me down again inside and tilts his head.

"What?" I ask.

"Candy."

I take a piece out of my pocket and hand it over, then pop one into my own mouth.

"Should I be panicking?" Ana asks. She's standing, leaning against the banister of the stairs.

Jeff is the one who replies, "That stuff is Laughing Jack's it's fine."

Kaylee comes back into view from another room. "My daughter," she says, "has just informed me that I'm standing in a room with two serial killers."

Everyone just looks at her. I'm holding my breath.

Finally Mitch says, "Three."

Jack corrects him, "Four."

"Four what?" Kaylee asks.

"Four serial killers,"

She raises an eyebrow, "All four of you?"

Ana looks alarmed, "Good god no."

"What?" Mitch says at the same time, "Do you think I'm that far up the chain?"

Janey is suddenly tugging at my hand, "Laughing Jack isn't happy."

Kaylee throws up her hands, "This Laughing Jack business again.

"That's three," I say.

"He's Janey's imaginary friend," Kaylee says.

Even though he's several feet away by the computer I see Jeff tense. I put a protective hand on Janey's head.

"Imaginary isn't how I'd put it," Jack says.

Ana says something under her breath that sounds like a fragment of a prayer.

"All of you shut up," Jeff says, "I'm trying to think."

I cross the room to look over his shoulder at the computer. On the screen is a blank white website, with Cleverbot written across the top. From the look on Jeff's face I figure it's better not to disturb him.

Everyone else seems to have come to the same conclusion because the room is dead silent except fir the sound of Kip growling at Rabbit.

Then, suddenly, Jeff's fingers blur across the keyboard at a speed that isn't possible for a human to achieve. A long stream of numbers and letters appears in the dialogue box.

Jeff looks up, "Is anyone epileptic?"

"No," Kaylee says slowly.

"Good." He hits enter. Nothing happens for a second, and then the screen flickers, changes color slightly, and settles again, and now there is no title on the website.

A line of green words appears on the screen, "And what the hell do you want?"

* * *

**AN:** This is as much as I can put in one chapter. It's not really a cliffhanger, not like last week. You all know exactly what's going to happen. I'll see you all next week.


	54. Chapter 54: Lea

**AN:** Okay, so hear me out here. The reason I'm late is that Hobo-Heart: Open Wounds, by Chis Oz Fulton and GoldCo1n was just made into audio by MrCreepypasta. Normally this wouldn't change anything, but Creepypasta aren't like regular copyrighted items for fanfiction, and I always feel a little bit guilty whenever I realize how far I'm perverting some of the characters portrayed in this story. I mean, the original writer of one of these stories might have seen them, and they probably read it and went, "that's NOT what I meant at all." That makes me feel icky just thinking about it.

**So I will reiterate, in bold because it's important, that, save for the humans, none of these characters are mine. NONE OF THEM.** I'll compile a master list at the end of this fanfiction and upload it with the last chapter.

* * *

**There were reviews, but I'm not gonna answer them this week.**

* * *

[29] Interruptions

6 June, 6:36 PM

54\. Lea

*A brief chat log*

_And what the hell do you want_

Mitch wants you to boost his computer.

_What the hell for?_

No idea.

_Well then tell him to shove it. I've got bigger problems._

Like what?

_Hacking through a firewall. This thing has stuff way ahead of normal tech._

Ben.

_What?_

Lea's here.

Jeff scoots back hurriedly as the computer screen goes dark.

I hear a yelp and realize Jack has snatched up Janey and covered her eyes. A moment later I'm glad he has.

Images start flashing on screen. There are twisted bodies, emaciated human forms, children beaten raw and red, and whip marks beaten into skin. The pictures grow faster, interspersed with words too quick to read. Electricity crackles in the circuits. Then everything stops.

The computer shows the words, "I'm glad you did that" for several seconds before that's gone too. Then there's something moving inside of it, squirming.

The something bursts out of the screen and tackles me, screaming and crying, and I instinctively catch it against my chest. It's not actually a scream: it's the mechanical shriek produced as every piece of hardware in the building jerks to life. There's a sharp crack as Minerva throws her phone across the room, breaking the screen.

The thing that tackled me buries its face in my shoulder and says in a voice distorted by electronics, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

I become aware of the not-quite-solid feeling of it-him-like he's just projecting the illusion of a body. I look past the body of the young boy in my arms, everyone, including Jeff and Jack, are regarding us with mild confusion on their faces. The computer is rebooting, entirely unharmed. Ben, I assume it's Ben, has gone quiet and still. He jumps out of my grip and goes to the table, appearing entirely normal, apart from the fact that all his clothes are bright green.

He pulls out a chair and stands on it in order to get the angle he wants on the computer, and reaches out to touch the keyboard. A mass of numbers scrolls by too fast to even process the information.

"It's fried," Ben says to himself and touches the screen. His fingers fuse into the computer, but don't reemerge on the other side.

Kaylee makes a little high-pitched squeak. I silently agree, but decide to be less vocal about it.

"Ben," Jeff says, slightly annoyed,

"Busy," the boy sing-songs, as if it's something he's said to Jeff a million times. He disappears into the screen up to his elbow and stops moving abruptly. He turns his head to look at Mitch, nose wrinkled in disgust, "You should be ashamed."

The man flushes bright red, all the way up to his ears, and I feel a smile tug at my lips.

"Other than that," Ben says, "we should be okay." He pulls his hand out of the screen and the computer returns to normal.

Ben plops down onto the chair and swings his feet back and forth. He grins at me wolfishly. I get the sense that emotionally he's much older than he appears.

"Long story short," He says, still with his back to the rest of the people in the room, "I've known Lea was here since December because of her," he points to Minerva without looking at her, "but I couldn't get through the damned firewall on the Wi-Fi here. Jack, put down the kid; you're going to give her frostbite."

"And you got distracted," Jack says before he sets Janey on the floor. The girl is shivering.

Ben shifts uncomfortably, "Ya, a little."

I step forward and wave a hand that passes directly through the boy's head. He sits still for a moment, speechless, and then glares at me, "Stop that."

"Sorry," I say, "I had to check."

Ben disappears into green coding and reforms a moment later as a lanky teenager with that same wolfish grin on his face. For whatever reason I can't stop looking at him now. It's not that I find him physically attractive, but I can't stop looking. My head is starting to hurt from it after about three seconds, and I can feel one hell of a flashback coming on.

Then Ben turns away from me and my head stops feeling weird. I shake it and Jack touches my arm, making sure I'm okay.

Ben takes Kaylee's hand, an air about him as if everything he does is a joke. "Madam," he says graciously, "forgive our intrusion here. My name is Benjamin, and we've just come to get our friend back so we can take part in ripping apart the being who suppressed her memory and the men who organized the procedure."

Kaylee makes the squeaking noise again.

"Let's avoid ripping apart my superiors," Mitch says.

"Okay," Minerva says, "now I'm confused. What's going on?"

Jeff turns around and tilts his head at Hobo-Heart. He nods slightly. There's an entire conversation contained in those two gestures.

"Jack, want anything?" Jeff asks.

"Whatever you don't cut up and the kid doesn't need."

"Alright. Be back by tomorrow, hopefully." He walks out the back down without so much as glancing at me, Hobo-Heart following behind him.

I feel the phantom tingle of his palm against mine and a sick feeling settles in my stomach. What did I do wrong?

Jack must read something in my face because he says, "Relax. He's just adjusting to the idea of you being back to normal."

"And what is normal for me?" I snap in a sudden flash of anger.

Jack isn't fazed, but Kaylee and Minerva take a step back.

"Normal for you is…" Mitch gingerly touches the laptop and opens a program, "ordering me around all day and making sure I don't get killed in my sleep."

I frown, "You're at least four years older than me."

"Doesn't mean a damn thing where we come from." He straightens up and looks at me, "I suddenly have the urge to call you pet names and it's kind of freaking me out."

"Good," Jack says, "it's not just me."

"That's three of us," Ben says.

Ana rolls her eyes.

Minerva again tries to bring the conversation back, "Wait, Lea's from The Organization? And why is Eyeless Jack standing in the living room?"

"I take offense at that," Ben says, rising a few inches off the floor, "I'm here too."

"Ya, but I've been talking to you for years.'

Mitch steps between them before Ben can respond. "No, she's not," he says, "and if I were you I'd get used to this because it's only going to get weirder."

"We could leave," Jack says, "this is going to get complicated."

"Let's just get someone else's opinion," Mitch says as he steps back to the computer. He hits a button and the device starts ringing like a phone.

It only lasts a couple seconds before the screen clears, and a man sitting at a desk appears.

"Mitch," he says, rubbing his hands together, "what have you got for me?"

Everything in my head goes fuzzy and my vision clouds over.

_Crowds of people, voices, a hand on my back._

_ "Good, don't be fooled. These people are dangerous."_

_ Being pushed into an empty room, then-_

"Lea?" Jack says. He's standing in front of me.

I blink, shake my head, "Sorry."

"Dr. Damion Reed," the man on the screen is saying, "now where has Lea got to?"

I grow tense and actually step back a few inches, but Jack pushes me forward gently and I move into the camera's sight.

Dr. Reed brightens visibly, "There you are. How's your head?"

"Okay," I reply hesitantly.

He frowns slightly, "How much are you missing?"

"What do you mean?"

"How much of your memory?"

"About seventeen years."

He shakes his head, "That doesn't make sense. We were supposed to lose three or four years at the most."

My fingers find the ring on my finder and twist is around and around, feeling it rub on my scar. I bite my tongue to stop myself from speaking.

Jack leans around me, one hand touching the small of my back to steady us both. "It's not that surprising. Did you actually think you knew what was going on?"

"I had a good idea, yes."

Jack snorts, "Proxies."

Something clicks for Minerva, "Oh my god," she says, "Proxy, that makes so much sense."

Dr. Reed looks up, "Oh good: someone knows what they're talking about."

"Hey," Mitch says, disgruntled.

"You don't count, Observer, keep your mouth shut."

Minerva sits down in the nearest chair with a thump, "Good god, she's a Proxy."

"What's a Proxy?" I ask.

"A human who works for a Slenderman," Jack says, "loosely speaking."

"And let me tell you," dr. reed says, "you are just about the best personal we've had in the history of this job."

"I'd bet that's why you're here," Ben chimes in, "you scared the crap out of whoever blocked you and he panicked."

Dr. Reed sighs, "the last block The Operator will ever perform. Something he found in your head really spooked him."

"The Operator?!" Minerva says, "You have got to be fucking kidding me." then, more quietly, "I need a fucking drink."

Mitch sighs, "Your boss has been really hard to deal with without you around. He's really not taking it well. I think he's depressed."

"Which brings us," Dr. reed says, "to the issue of memory recall, which we usually want, but in your case might not be the best idea for reasons I don't want to tell you because it might set off recall to even hear them."

Jack is nodding, but my head is spinning. I've completely lost track of the conversation.

Ben takes his cue and tugs on my hand, "Lea, come on. Jack needs to talk to your friends." Despite his lack of a physical body his pull proves strong enough to move me, and he pulls me towards the stairs.

"Ben," Jack says sharply, "hands off."

"Don't worry about me," Ben says, "I don't have a death wish."

"You're already dead," I say.

"We are not having this conversation **again**." Ben says, and yanks me the rest of the way upstairs.


	55. Chapter 55: Jack

**AN:** Hooray I've made it! Now I only have to finish my homework. Hooray…

I'm not going to answer reviews here anymore. If you really want to talk to me, let me know and I'll PM you.

* * *

[30] Buttons

6 June, 6:50 PM

55\. Jack

As soon as Lea leaves the room, everyone switches to looking at Jack. He doesn't have a problem with that. He's been stared at enough to be used to it.

"Okay," Damion Reed says, "introduce yourselves."

Neither of the humans says anything, so Jack steps forward, taking control of the situation.

"Jack," he says.

The man smiles, "Eyeless Jack. I thought Mitch was joking."

Jack crosses his arms, "Who do you think sewed her up after you sliced her up?"

"A hospital."

"If that had happened we wouldn't be here right now. They would have sent you to hell."

"And I suppose you would know all about that."

"I'm of the opinion that it's actually worse up here."

He chooses to change the subject, "Right, let's explain things to Mrs…?"

"Kaylee Higgins," The woman says, coming to her senses.

"Alright, Kaylee, first let me thank you for taking care of Lea while we scrambled around. You didn't adopt her, did you?"

Kaylee scowls, "No."

"Good. I imagine her parents wouldn't be thrilled if someone else had legal custody of their child."

"So she has a family?" the girl, Minerva, asks.

"A mother and a father she barely speaks to and doesn't talk about, yes."

"Oh," Kaylee says, and leaves it at that.

"If you want to meet her family you should look to this gentlemen here. He's closer to a sibling than she's ever had."

Jack rolls his eyes even though no one can see it. "Jeff is the one who sees her as a sister."

"You are proving my point for me."

"Just hurry up and explain your social structure to them."

"Right," the man clears his throat, "the girl knows about Slendermen already, so I don't have to explain the concept of Proxies. Thank goodness."

"You're welcome," Minerva mutters.

"Anyway, Lea's a Personal. That's the very highest you can be, and it means she's attached to a particular Slenderman and he dictates most of her actions."

Minerva looks very concerned, "That doesn't sound very safe."

"For her," Jack says, "it was the safest she'd ever been."

"I don't know what happened exactly," Damion Reed goes on, "but Lea wasn't with our organization when she met Undesignated, and everything that took place was out of our control."

"Really," Ana says, "she never told you."

"You know?!" Mitch turns to her.

"We were the ones who got to her first."

Second, Jack thinks.

"Perhaps the lovely lady will tell us," Damion Reed says. Jack decides just to think of him as Damion, and leave the doctor bit out of it.

Ana's eyes flick to Jack, but he doesn't give any indication about his opinions. She sighs, "I know it involved—" she cuts herself off, looking at Janey. The girl has been strangely quiet, and Jack almost forgot she was right next to him. The girl is definitely showing signs of Laughing Jack.

"Janey, honey," Kaylee says, "go upstairs with Lea.:

"But—" the little girl says.

"Go play with the clown," Jack suggests.

The little girl brightens immediately and hurries up the stairs.

When she's out of the room Ana continues, "Lea was being raped, and he killed her attacker."

Kaylee takes a breath sharply.

"Hmm," Damion says, "that explains a lot."

Jack fights down the urge to slam the computer closed. He has to remind himself that this isn't a bad thing. He doesn't like telling secrets.

"And then there was some nasty business involving knives and whips and at one point heated brands," Jack finds himself saying, "it's wonder the girl can sleep at night."

"Ah," Damion says, "passive aggressive."

"If you hadn't taken a picture of it I wouldn't be nearly as mad as I am."

"I had nothing to do with that," Damion protests, "It wasn't my decision. I made sure the people involved got their due."

Jack just huffs.

"Now, Lea, unfortunately, is missing her memories for a lot of complicated reasons I'm not going into. The issue we have is how to get them back in a way that won't make her drop dead on the spot."

"We should bet her boss out here," Jack says because it needs to be said.

"Exactly," Mitch says, "as much as it pains me to call Natasha."

"Whatever you think is best. Mitch can do what needs to be done."

"Who's Natasha?" Ana asks.

"The personal filling in for Lea," Mitch says, "and she's not exactly my favorite person in the world. You should hear the way she talks to Undesignated." He already has his phone out and is jacking the battery into the slot.

"Well," Damion says, "you seem to have everything under control, and I have my own issues to deal with so…" the screen goes black.

"Great," Ana says, drawing out the word sarcastically, "even the people in charge at your organization don't give straight answers."

Jack just looks at Mitch.

"What?" the observer asks, catching the look.

"You know how to get her memories back," Jack says, "otherwise he would have told us how."

Mitch doesn't bother responding. He raises the phone to his ear and turns away from the conversation.

"And why," Kaylee says, "am I supposed to believe any of this?"

"All eyes turn to Jack. "No," he says, "I'm not taking off the glasses."

"Then I suppose we can't convince her," Ana says.

"Why can't Lea hear this conversation?" Minerva asks.

"because her block didn't take properly and if something sets off recall she'll probably go into cardiac arrest from the shock," Jack explains. "We need her boss here to act as a mediator."

Ana gives him a startled look, "Sometimes I forget you're intelligent."

Jack shrugs, "I can passably speak five languages, I know the human anatomy inside out, and I've lived with some of the most brilliant people on the planet. Intelligent comes with the territory." That's not a lie. Jack is fairly sure that all of the monsters have above-average IQ. Jeff scores between 110 and 130 on most conventional intelligence tests.

"Five Languages?" Ana asks, interested.

"English, Spanish, Portuguese, French, and," he pauses, "German."

They're all looking at him now, even Mitch with the phone still pressed to his ear.

Jack shrugs, "If you wander around Europe for long enough you pick them up."

Mitch gets a connection at last and says, "Natasha, finally…get out of the files…no I don't care—no, no, look, I just need to know where Undesignated was." There follows a short pause, then he pulls the phone away from his ear and presses the speaker button. "Say that again."

"I haven't seen him in two days," A female voice repeats, the distain obvious, "he just poofed in the middle of a conversation and he hasn't been back since."

"Great," Ana says

Jack feels himself start bouncing on the balls of his feet and makes himself sit still. This is bad.

"What?" Natasha says, "who's there?"

"A few friends," Mitch says, "they're on our side."

"Oh well that's okay then," Natasha says sarcastically, "why do you need to know where he is anyway?"

Jack reaches out and flips the phone closed, sensing a growing tension in Mitch. "Plan B then," he says.

Mitch puts the phone away, sighing, "I hate setting up arrays."

"What?" Minerva asks.

"Right well-," Mitch starts with his explanation.

* * *

Jack sits on the floor with his back to the sofa nearly two hours later. Mitch and Ana are gone, thank goodness. They left to find a hotel, which Jack flatly refused to take part in. He's staying by Lea for a while, and he's making sure Laughing Jack doesn't do anything stupid.

Minerva has gone to her room, presumably to discover that Ben is monitoring her emails and posting to ensure she doesn't broadcast the situation to the entire world, and Kaylee has gone up to put Janey to bed and interrogate Lea.

Jack figures that he has about five minutes of alone time left. Then Lea or Ben will show up.

There's the sound of footsteps from upstairs and Lea appears, holding a folded blanket. She crosses to Jack and sits on the cough behind him. Off by nearly four minutes.

Lea doesn't try to talk. She throws her blanket over the sofa, crawls underneath it, and sets her head on a throw pillow on Jack's end of the cough. She rolls away from him, facing the back of the couch.

Jack tilts his head slightly, "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Ben is playing games in my room," comes her muffled voice, "I'm not sleeping in there."

"But—" he stops himself.

"What?" She rolls over to look at him, but Jack doesn't turn his head.

"Have you read it yet?" He asks, cursing himself for going this route so quickly.

"Ya," She says, "Ben made me. Yours and his and a bunch of others."

Jack sighs, "Good. You should know what you're getting into."

"That doesn't change the fact that he's glow in the dark and hovering in my room."

Jack chuckles, "that's your life: better get used to it."

She gives him a friendly sort of thump on the shoulder and settles down again.

After a while Jack says, "Do you want me to turn the lights off?"

"No. I'm okay."

He turns his head to look at her, then reaches back to brush an errant strand of hair back into place. That kind of casual intimacy was common between them before, and he slips back into it without thinking.

Lea flinches though, as if she expects him to hit her.

"Did he hurt you?" Jack asks.

"Jeff? No."

"The day Jeff lays a finger on you is the day hell freezes over. I meant your boyfriend."

"Oh," long pause, "aside from the one fight no, and that was mostly me hitting him."

"Not physically anyway."

"Well…he threatened Janey a couple times. It was blackmail I guess."

"What for?"

"Sex."

Jack feels himself burn with anger, but it's not directed at Lea. "Teenage boys tend to fixate on sex," he says after he's gotten himself under control.

"You and Jeff don't."

"We're not teenagers, and we're more concerned about where to stick a knife."

Lea laughs, just once. She reaches out and brushes the feathery waves of Jack's hair through her fingers. "Thank you for finding me."

"You're very welcome." Jack replies, shivering under her hands but enjoying the contact. It's been a while since anyone played with his hair.

"Tell me a story," she says, like it's just occurred to her. Some part of her must remember that he would tell her stories to calm her down when her boss wasn't around.

"My stories aren't very good for falling asleep," He warns.

"I'm in no hurry to fall asleep."

So Jack tells her about a soldier who went off to fight in a war and came back to his family without a leg. Then he tells her about a pair of twins sewn together by a doctor, back to back. They died of gangrene.

By the time he's finished Lea is asleep, but he doesn't mind. It feels good just to talk about it again, just to get it all out.

"So that's what it is," Kaylee Higgins says from the kitchen table, "you're a soldier."

"Soldier is one word for it," He goes back to drawing.

"And that's what she does: she listens?"

He shakes his head, "No."

"Then what?"

"She just…" he pauses, "she just is. A lot of people have been like her over the years. She listens so well because I've saved her life a couple times. Jeff has a much harder time getting her to hold still."

He looks down and realizes that the drawing has turned into a sketch of Lea and her Slenderman sitting back-to-back, two of their hands clasped together and the fingers stitched together in an interlocking pattern.

He squints at the drawing. Some detail is wrong here. "Have you noticed anything strange? Any ticks that Lea has?"

"She flexes her right hand constantly."

"That makes sense," Jack says.

"She twists that ring all the time too."

Jack twists around to look at Lea's hands. Her right hand is laying on her stomach not a foot away. There is a simple gold ting on her index finger.

"It looks like a wedding ring, doesn't it? I thought she might be engaged and the ring just ended up on the wrong finger."

Jack frowns, "It might be the suppressor Mitch mentioned. It's about the right size." He leans in closer, looking at the ring more closely. There are tiny carvings of the Operator's symbol on it. "This is it."

"Or someone just gave her a present." Kaylee suggests.

"Proxies don't give presents," Jack says, "not unless they're romantically involved."

"That's the thing: I don't believe this story. Trauma victims behave in a certain way and she never seemed that troubled."

In response Jack reaches back and draws one m\fingernail down Lea's arm, tracing the scar. The girl flinches, cries out softly, then jerks spasmodically. She calms again when Jack removes his hand.

"You just have to know which buttons to press," He says, touching her forehead as an apology. Lea relaxes into sleep again. "As for the rest, I can prove that right now."

"How."

Jack gets to his feet and offers his hand to her. "I'm Eyeless Jack, nice to meet you."

Kaylee takes his hand without thinking and her whole body tenses.

Jack lets go and sits back down, making a satisfied humming noise in the back of his throat. It sounds distinctly inhuman.

The woman leaves the room, presumably to discover that Ben can monitor cell phones as well as computers.

Lea stirs, rolling onto her side. Jack smooths her hair, hoping that it will help. She reaches out and wraps one arm around his chest, which makes Jack flinch, but he relaxes again as she settles back into deep sleep.


	56. Chapter 56: Slender

**AN:** *irritated author noises* I have no time to do anything on any story anymore.

* * *

[30] Buttons

7 June, Early Morning

56\. Slender

I'm unsure what time it is when I return to the base. I'm more tired than I've ever been, and I'm on the verge of giving in to it and taking a nap in my room. My body is in need of rest, and maybe some actual food.

I move to sit almost immediately when I flicker into base, but I stop when I see the form already present there.

Natasha is still wearing her mask, and she's fallen asleep with a book in her hands. I recognize _Huckleberry Fin_ with a jolt.

Is there something about me that makes humans go a little crazy? I never thought I'd see Natasha reading. She was probably trying to make sense of the writing in the margins. I know it has no meaning to anyone other than myself and Lea.

She was trying to decipher the code. That was the only explanation I can think of. I wonder if she knows that it's party in German.

Regardless of all that, she's sleeping on my couch.

I remove the book from her hands and set it in the table. Then, against my better judgement, I pick Natasha up off the couch. I carry her like I learned to carry Lea, her head on my shoulder and my arms supporting her back. She's heavier than Lea, and my arms are weaker than they once were.

I flicker into her too-small room and lay her on the bed. Natasha's chest rises and falls. I can hear the sound of her heartbeat pounding inside her chest.

I really hate her. I really and truly hate this woman, and maybe that's okay. I care so deeply about someone I've lost, maybe it's better to obsess over someone who is still here, even if I can't stand her.

Maybe.

I start to leave, but I see a stack of papers on the nearby dresser that look horribly familiar. It's the sketches lea had in her locker, torn down. How did Natasha get them? Does she know what they are? It doesn't matter; they aren't hers.

I pick up the drawings and rifle through them, remembering how Lea asked Jack to draw a few sketches for her because photography wasn't an option. They're all here, including the one of Lea and I.

I remember Jack drawing that one. It was a suggestion he had regarding Lea's emotional state: her sleeping on my chest. According to Jack it's a common position for newborns to sleep in. In the long run it didn't help much, but it got me to hold still long enough for a sketch of two.

I really shouldn't have thrown Jack against a wall. It was in the heat of the moment and it's not his fault he's so calm. Jack has seen enough that I doubt anything would phase him.

I try to pick up that last sketch, but when I lift only half of it come away in my hand. It's ripped neatly in two, pulling Lea off my chest. I feel something inside me break. My throat tightens and my breath catches.

I make an involuntary and audible noise. It comes up as a sort of hiccup and when it works its way out of me as an actual noise it appears to be a sort of moan, but not one I've ever come close to producing before.

The pain lasts only a moment before anger follows it. I feel the tentacles squirm out of my back, forming a writhing mass of flesh. My body lengthens until my head brushes the ceiling, and then I control myself and shrink down again.

Does Natasha take pleasure in making me hurt like this? Sometimes it seems like she does. No: it always seems like she does. The more miserable I get, the happier she becomes. She takes pride in disobeying me, then she purposefully insults me, and when I share a dream with Lea she doesn't stop pestering me until I'm raw and open again.

That dream, where did all the resolve go from then? I still bring it up sometimes, let the memories sustain me, but they're getting much fainter.

Enough is enough. I can't do this anymore. I can't stand this anymore.

I pick up the other half of the drawing, flicker to Lea's apartment and lay the entire stack on the table. Then I go to my gray world and sit on the slightly-spongey ground, my arms around my knees.

I just want to stop existing. I need to disappear. Maybe this will hurt them: Mitch and the others. I never really tried to be friends with them, never even had a conversation. I feel like I know them because they know Lea and I shared her mind and memories. But I'm not really what they want.

And I really, really need to sleep.

I let my mind seep out, laying over the human world, and my mind conjures constellations around the stars of their minds. I'll stay here until I have to move. Maybe by then I'll be asleep again.


	57. Chapter 57: Lea

**AN:** If you knew the crap I'd been put through in the last two weeks… Well suffice to say I'm short on time. I am constantly losing portions of time that I could be using to study or do homework or write a play… You get it.

[31] The Best Laid Plans

7 June, 7:00 AM

57\. Lea

I wake up to the sound of the back door opening. I stay very still, eyes closed, breathing slowly. There's something wrong. There's a space that should be filled that's empty now.

Someone sits down on the couch with me and leans back against me. I immediately know it's Hobo-Heart because he's neither extremely warm or freezing cold.

"Lea," Jack says, "stop pretending to be asleep."

I open my eyes and blink at the three of them. Jack and Jeff are standing a few feet away, Jeff with an odd expression on his face. It looks like he wants to stab me. I sit up and look past Hobo to the clock on the wall.

I feel myself pale. "School," I say, standing up on the couch. I jump down and try to hurry past the two men, but Jack stops me with an arm across my path. He's frowning slightly.

"You have a GED," Jeff says tiredly.

"Then why am I wasting my time?" I ask, pushing Jack's arm down.

Just then Minerva appears from her room, already dressed and hurrying.

"L," she says, "we're going to be late."

"L?" Jack says, surprised. I wrinkle my nose in response.

"Lea has a GED," Jeff repeats, not even looking around.

"then why is she wasting her time?" Minerva asks, and continues without waiting for an answer. With the cereal halfway out of the cupboard she pauses and turns around. "How does she have a GED. She failed English."

"Yes," I correct, "but I passed math and AP Biology with A's."

Jeff turns to look at Jack, who shrugs.

"I'm not a neuroscientist. I don't know why."

"You're the closest we've got so take a guess."

Jack sighs, "It's possible that Lea's mind is more suited to mathematics, so the language skills…migrated."

I look at Hobo-Heart. He's just as confused as I am.

Kaylee comes downstairs, looking around at us. She scowls, "Lea, get going."

I push past Jack and Jeff and go upstairs to get dressed and brush my teeth.

Ben is still in my room, but he's asleep on the bed. Can he sleep? He certainly looks asleep. Just to be safe, I change clothes in the bathroom.

I scoop him off the bed on my way out. When he's a boy he's small enough to do this. He doesn't even stir.

I carry him downstairs, where Jeff takes him without missing a beat. Hobo-Heart looks disgruntled, but Jeff doesn't seem very concerned. He and Jack drift away, talking in low voices.

I look at Hobo for a couple seconds. "Sorry I ran," I say, "I shouldn't have."

"I don't blame you," He replies, "I tried to rip your heart out of your chest."

I smile, "If you don't try to kill me, I won't run away screaming, deal?"

A smile twitches at his mouth, "Deal."

I stretch over my head. I still have that itch, that feeling that something isn't right. I twist the ring on my finger. Something is wrong, but I don't know what it is.

I glance behind me, checking on the two men.

"You okay?" Hobo-Heart asks, frowning slightly.

I cross and sit down next to him and hold out my arms. He hesitates a moment, then pulls me into his chest and lets me rest against him. I'm enjoying this habit of physical contact. Normal people are so stand-offish.

Jack and Jeff are watching now. Jeff is smiling slightly, but Jack looks troubled.

Kaylee appears again, blinks at me for a moment, then says, uncertainly, "You missed the bus."

"The Proxy will need her," Jack says, "she shouldn't go to school anyway. It's not safe there."

Minerva mumbles something about how nowhere seems safe anymore from the table, and Kaylee turns on her. "You missed it to!"

Kaylee talks Minerva into attending school and bundles her into the car. She tells me to wake up the kids, at which I nod and wriggle out of Hobo's grip.

Jack waits until they drive away, then walks to the phone. He picks it up, dials and says, "Something's wrong. Get over here."

I go to wake up Janey and the twins, who shriek at me to get out of their room, and when I get back Mitch, Ana, and Rabbit are there.

Mitch has spread a number of strange looking mixtures and brushes across the table. He pulls out rolled up sheets of paper, about four feet square and unrolls one. He weighs down the corners with four jars.

I pause at the top of the stairs and Mitch looks up at me. He frowns slightly.

Poe meows around my ankles, begging for food. I bend down and scoop him up.

Mitch turns away, "Oh hell."

I carry a squirming Poe downstairs and set him on the chairs. He immediately springs onto the table and sniffs at one of the jars of black liquid there. Mitch rubs his ears.

Jeff has taken over the couch, wrapped up in the blanket I left there. He appears to be soundly asleep. Ben is next to him, but out of the blanket.

I start pacing around the table, Rabbit whines at me as I pass, and tries to get me to pet him. I ignore him. The others watch me for a bit, Ana frowning and Mitch just looking on, concerned.

The man pulls out a phone, jacks the battery into its slot and dials.

"Natasha," he says, then, "You should be awake. Everyone else is."

He hits speaker, signaling us all to be quiet.

"Now I am," says an irate female voice, "and…" her voice drops off, "this is not where I fell asleep."

"That happens sometimes," Mitch says, "especially when you're in his space. But that's not the—"

"I guess I fell asleep—"

"Natasha," Mitch interrupts her, "have you actually seen Undesignated lately?"

"Not for a few days."

"Is there anything around that could set him off?"

"Set him off?" She sounds genuinely puzzled, "what's this about?"

I start pacing again.

Mitch follows me with his eyes, "Just a bad feeling," he says.

"Okay, so, like what?"

"Anything that would…bring up memories," Mitch sounds uncertain now.

"Where are the sketches?" Jack asks suddenly.

"What?" She asks.

"The sketches in Lea's locker, did you take those?"

"Um…" Natasha trails off. There's a long moment where she's silent, and then she says, "Oh my god they're gone."

Mitch sighs, "Oh brilliant."

"It's not a big deal, right? I didn't see him once for two weeks and he was fine when he showed up again."

"In March?" I stop walking, then resume after a moment.

"Yes, actually."

I shudder, remembering the pain in my side.

"Damnit," Mitch says to the phone, "did it not occur to you it might be a bad thing that he's not around?"

"No," She snaps, Why would I?"

Mitch turns off the speaker and presses the phone to his ear. "Don't, just don't… No, I'm not joking… Just shut up, Natasha."

Jack physically picks me up as I pass him as if I weigh no more than Janey. I yelp in surprise, then relax against him. Jack sets me down once he's sure I'm not going to keep walking.

Mitch thrusts the phone into my hand, "You talk to her. I can't."

I take it and press the phone to my ear.

"And how the hell am I supposed to relate to someone with NO FACE?!"

I blink, take a moment to figure out the implications, and then say, "So what?"

There's a beat of silence on the other end of the line, "Pardon me?"

"I don't understand what the problem is."

"I mean…he's very quiet. He reads a lot. Doesn't talk much."

I frown. Mitch looks like he's trying not to laugh.

"And this is an issue?" I ask.

She stutters, "W-we don't get along."

"I can tell," I say.

"Who is this anyway?" She seems eager to redirect the conversation.

"I really don't know," I reply honestly.

Mitch holds out his hand for the phone, and I pass it back to him. I start to walk upstairs, but he calls after me, "Lea, wait a moment."

I stop. They're all watching me, Mitch with the phone still pressed to his ear, listening to Natasha on the other end. Their gazes are making my skin crawl, and I snap abruptly.

"Don't you people watch TV or something? There are better things to look at than me."

Mitch and Ana avert their eyes, but Jack and Hobo-Heart, who's leaning against the table, don't so much as flinch. Jack is smiling slightly.

"Bye," Mitch says into the phone. He flips it closed and looks back up at me, "Lea, come here."

I take two steps backwards, disliking the commanding tone, like I'm a dog. "Here, girl, sit. Stay."

"I just need to take some blood," He says, producing a needle attached to a glass cylinder and waves it in the air.

Jack plucks it out of his hand and turns it over in his fingers. "I'll do that."

I walk downstairs, but don't step farther into the room. Jack has to come to me. His back is turned to the whole room, and I have the impression he prefers it like that. He produces a disinfectant wipe from a pocket and tears it open, then holds out a hand for my arm.

I hear the door click open as Kaylee returns to the house. Jack doesn't seem interested. He wipes the inside of my elbow with the pad of moist fabric, then takes the syringe and presses the metal of the needle against my chilled skin.

"On three," He says, "ready?"

I instinctively direct my eyes away from the needle and end up staring at Janey, standing on the upstairs landing.

"One," Jack says, and presses the needle into my skin like I somehow won't notice. I take a deep breath at the sharp prick of pain and force myself to relax.

"Two." Out of the corner of my eye I see the red of my blood in the vial. I start to get that fuzzy feeling that means a flashback is coming.

"Three," He removes the needle from my skin in one sharp, easy motion. I let out a slow breath. The flashback hits me in a flash of white.

_Needles in white flesh, warm skin under my fingers, red blood in bags. The feeling of responsibility, trust, fondness._

I blink. There's already a bandage on the inside of my arm. Jack is pulling a paper bag out of the refrigerator. As soon as he's got it in his hand he's out of the back door without a word.

Kaylee frowns, still standing by the doorway, "He's a doctor too?"

"No," Mitch says, alarmed, "he just knows his way around the human anatomy."

"He carries a medical book," the woman points out.

"Most of what he knows he learned from watching people being cut open," Ben pipes up. Despite having just woken up, he's already in a body that must match the age of his mind. He looks deadly serious, right down to the red tint of his eyes, which is the opposite of what I've seen of his personality so far. "Jack's seen things that no one should ever have had to see."

I feel an ache in my chest, and I follow Jack out the back door without saying anything to anyone else.

Jack's sitting with his back to the side of the house between two windows. It's a blind spot: no one inside the house can see him. I slide down the wall next to him and land with a bump on the deck.

After several seconds of silence he says, "I'm eating."

I shrug, "I'm not going back in there."

"Suit yourself," He pulls something out of the paper bad. I turn my head to watch him as he raises the glistening thing to his mouth, his palm already red with blood. He rips into it with a savage pleasure, half-congealed blood oozing out of what I now realize is a kidney.

He turns his head slightly, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. He swallows, chuckles, "And Ana complains no one can get used to it."

"Does it taste good?" I ask, half-curious.

"Depends on what you mean," He takes another bite, "I don't taste things like you do."

"Oh." I say, and leave it at that.

There's another pause before Jack says, "Do me a favor: tell me you don't care about me."

I hesitate, unsure of myself. I barely know who I am, but something is telling me that I care about Jack.

"Why?" I ask.

"I might need to not lie about it sometime in the next week or so."

"Okay," I take a breath, "I don't care about you at all."

He huffs, "You didn't need to sound so honest."

"You asked," I settle back against the house, "I lied effectively."

There's a long pause while he mulls over that and I wonder if organs are chewy.

Jack changes the subject before I can get up the nerve to ask. "So you do remember some things."

"Sort of. I guess so. It's more like I just know things."

"Do you remember your Boss?"

The way he says that word is weird, like it means more than I'm used to it meaning. "No," I say, "I don't remember anyone."

He presses against me suddenly, compelled by something, but a second later he shifts back. "You should go back inside. I'm alright."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Okay," I stand up, touch his head gently ruffling soft hair, then remove my hand and go back inside. I feel suddenly sleepy again, despite having slept all night. I fight down a yawn.

Rabbit sniffs at me as I sit down at the table, and I scratch his ears. I'm reminded of the dog behind the bookstore.

"It's not a dog," Hobo-Heart says from his place on the wall.

"I know."

Rabbit growls in a good-natured sort of way. Kip snarls at him, and I resist the urge to kick the white puffball in the side.

Mitch is doing something with the vial of blood Jack took from me and the jars of black liquid. Whatever he's doing, it's causing a worrying amount of fizzing.

"Is it supposed to do that?" Ana asks him nervously.

"Totally normal. Don't worry about it," he says, "As long as it doesn't melt through the paint-brushes, that is."

"And if it does?"

"Then Lea has a terminal illness." He dips a brush into the black substance and stirs. The fizzing subsides and the brush is unchanged when he removes it, "See: no problem."

"Within limits," Jack says to himself, having only just entered the room.

Mitch nods at him, acknowledging the point, "You're right." He sighs, "This is supposed to sit for at least 5 hours before being applied…"

"I'm not feeding all of you," I say immediately, then blink, unable to rationalize to myself why I said the words.

Mitch's brow creases, "You weren't conscious for the block, were you? It might not have taken properly."

"And cause flashbacks," I suggest, "really weird flashbacks?"

Mitch sighs, "If you weren't so damn secretive this kind of thing wouldn't happen."

Jack speaks up, "To keep her asleep you would probably have to hook up a way to constantly administer sedatives. It's better not to try."

Mitch scowls, "None of this was my idea."

Kaylee comes back downstairs, carrying her bag over one shoulder. "Lea," she says, "please make sure the kids get on the bus on time."

"Yes Ma'am," I say.

"I'll be back before dinner,"

"Yes Ma'am."

I'm already getting up to make sure the twins are actually awake. They probably aren't.

"She's a nanny!" I hear Ben practically cackle as soon as the door closes behind Kaylee. I scowl.


	58. Chapter 58: Lea

**AN: **Listen to me carefully: Get your wallet, grab your car keys. Go to the bookshop nearest to you, and direct yourself to the Teen fiction section (I know, but I promise this is nothing like the normal stuff in there). Go to S, for Stroud. Jonathon Stroud. If he's not there, I weep for your loss. If he is, find the book called _The Amulet of Samarkand_. You hold in your hand the reason why I didn't upload last week. I recommend that you purchase it and the other two books in the Bartimaeus Trilogy. You will not regret it.

* * *

[31] The Best Laid Plans

7 June, 3:00 PM

58\. Lea

I'm reading from my history book. I don't really know why because I'm not going back to school, but I am. My textbook is open on my knees and my back is against Jack's side. It's nice to know that someone here will defend me.

Jack reaches over and crosses off an entire paragraph. I look up at him, and he shrugs slightly but doesn't speak.

Minerva opens the door, looking pale and worried. Taylor pushes past her into the room.

"Lea," she says, "please tell me that the bullshit coming out of her mouth—" and she stops, staring at the people sprawled around the room engaged in various activities. They're all looking at her. Mitch has his black and white mask hanging from around his neck like some garish necklace.

Taylor lets out a stream of curses so explicit in nature that Jack instinctively slaps both hands over my ears. He's babying me, but I let him. He needs to care about someone: it's how he heals himself. He releases me quickly enough.

Ben laughs delightedly at the look on Taylor's face and goes back to the computer screen, which to my eyes is a riot of random colors and images. He looks up a moment later and looks at Minerva, "Be glad that I'm not inclined to show Jeff what's on your computer."

Both girls flush bright red, leaving me in very little doubt as to what is on that computer.

"Why is it that Jeff gets all the fans?" Jack wonders aloud, but in such a low voice that only I can hear him.

"You sound jealous," I murmur back.

"No. He has to do a lot of fast-talking to avoid the police." He chuckles, "I'll pass."

I stretch, close my textbook.

"Where is he anyway?" Minerva asks.

"Shower," everyone choruses. Ana goes back to her file almost immediately, but Mitch stays alert, watching the two teenagers.

"It should be about time," He announces, checking his watch, "the mixture will need a while to set.

Finally.

I get up—stepping carefully over Hobo-Heart's prone form—and move to the table to watch the process.

"You cannot be serious," Taylor says, eyeing Jack nervously. "Oh my god you are…"

"That's what I said too," Mitch spreads one of the large pieces of paper on the table. He flips it so that when he weighs down the corners the middle arches upwards.

Jeff walks out of the bathroom, wearing a gray t-shirt that seems a bit too small for his muscled frame. His jacket is folded up in his hands. His eyes instantly go to Taylor and the fingers of his right hands slip into the fabric in his hands, taking hold of something that I know is his knife. The girl freezes, recognizing that she's face-to-face with a painful death.

"Jeffery," Jack says, and Jeff snaps out of it. Behind me, I sense Hobo getting to his feet.

Jeff twirls the knife around his fingers with a casual kind of menace, still watching Taylor, but with less bloodlust in his eyes. "Sorry," he says, and flicks the knife into the doorframe beside him, where its blade sinks in a good two inches and sticks fast. He shakes his head like a dog, throwing water droplets everywhere.

Ben makes a noise like crackling circuits and dissolves into a stream of numbers that vanish into the screen of the computer. The word "asshole" appears on the monitor, the green cursor blinking next to it in an offended sort of way.

Jeff ignores this and pulls on his jacket. I see the scars on the inside of his arms, and I know that everyone does too. It's the first time I've seen him actually address the issue, and I feel a touch of pride.

Jeff wrenches his knife out of the wall and stuffs it into his pocket, glances at me, then walks to the other side of the room and stands by the end of the sofa.

Taylor throws her hands up in despair, "This is insane."

Ana speaks up for the first time, "Honey, you have no idea."

At this point I see Hobo move slightly out of the corner of my eye and sense a pulse of suppressed anxiety. I turn to him and grab his hands in mine, before he can even think about trying to tear someone open again. I press his palms against mine and step close, restricting his movement.

"Deep breath," I say quietly, "you're okay."

He obediently sucks in a lungful of air, and I feel his body relax.

"And now I am really freaking out," The girl continues her hesitant monologue.

"What?" Mitch looks up, "Oh, that."

Ana waves is off, "Be glad she can do that. By all accounts, it seems he rips hearts out of the chests of teenage girls."

"Gotta get them somewhere," Jeff says. Jack is ignoring us.

I step back, dropping Hobo's hands, and fold my arms, head tilted at the teenagers. I'm seeing everything through a slightly different lens now, and they don't look quite so important as they did yesterday.

The Gemberling seems to decide that the best way to calm down is to remove himself from the situation entirely. He taps Jeff's arm on the way by and the Killer follows him outside without so much as a backwards glance.

Mitch pulls my attention away as he dips his paint brush into the black liquid. He taps the excess off and very carefully sets it against the paper. He traces a smooth curve, half of a circle.

"What is this mystical array anyway?" Ana says conversationally.

Mitch seems to be enjoying himself, "The first thing is that it will broadcast the presence of the blood of the person used in the mixture. It's sort of like painting a big red target on someone. The second thing is, when a Slenderman is nearby, the array will pull them in and contain them. We don't want the wrong one tearing us apart."

"And what sentient being would fall for that?" Ana asks.

"But they aren't sentient at the time, are they?" Mitch says, "They aren't until AFTER they get caught."

"It wouldn't matter anyway," Jack says, "even a sentient one wouldn't be able to resist forever."

There's a moment of silence while everyone but Mitch looks at him. Jack sighs, "They have to eat, don't they?"

Ana makes a face and leaves it at that.

"The longest we've ever gone without a Slenderman showing up is 10 hours," Mitch says, "that was the last time we caught the Slenderman we're trying for today, if I'm not mistaken. I'll bet he'll come quietly this time."

Minerva raises a hand, "Hold on: you're referring to Slenderman as a singular form and as a plural form, as in Slender_men_."

"Oh," Mitch says, "ya. There's somewhere upwards of 100. Probably more, but we can't get to all of them."  
Minerva suddenly looks like she's about to faint.

One down, five to go," Mitch says, setting aside the first paper and unrolling another.

"Lea," Taylor says suddenly, "can we talk?"

"Sure." I follow her outside without making a fuss.

As soon as we step onto the porch I step forward and look up at the sky. The sun is still far above the horizon. The trees haven't managed to snare it in their branches yet.

"Lea," Taylor says again.

"Everything you say, Jeff can hear," I warn her, knowing that it's true.

"That's fine."

I feel a sudden affection for Taylor, for not even blinking. She probably doesn't fully comprehend the situation.

"It makes sense now, you know. You make sense."

"I know." I'm watching Hobo, high up in the pine tree in the backyard. I have absolutely no idea how he got that high off the ground.

"And you're comfortable with all this?"

I turn to face her for the first time, "It's fine. I've been around Jeff for months. I'm used to it."  
"I guess so…" she trails off, then giggles suddenly, "Proxy: that makes so much sense."  
"I'm still cold though," I say to myself.

"What?"

"Something is wrong, let's hurry up."

"Lea?" Taylor says, "do you think that you could—"

"No," I say, already aware of what she's going to say.

"But—"

"No," I say again, "I will not bring you into this." In a burst of anger, I pull her in and whisper, "This stuff does stuff to you. I don't remember anything, and sometimes all I want to do is rip people apart. I gutted a kitten, when I was given the opportunity, crushed its head with my heel. I'm not healthy—mentally of physically, and you don't want to join me down here, believe me."

Taylor steps back, appearing visibly shaken. "Y-you did what?"

"Killed a kitten, mostly with my hands, and it was great. I can only imagine what a human is like." I close my eyes, and let myself fantasize for a moment, then open them again and look at the girl. "The number of times I have wanted to kill you alone must be in the 20s."

She takes a step back.

"Don't worry," I say, "I don't want to now." I look down at the ring on my right hand and frown at it. "Let's go back inside."

Inside, Mitch is arranging the papers so that the symbols on them can dry.

"We shouldn't set it up here," he's saying, "there are too many people. We need somewhere quiet."

"Let's use the warehouse at the airport," I say, "no one ever goes there."

Jack tilts his head at me, communicating without words, "anything wrong?" and I shrug, "nothing major." It's an odd feeling, knowing exactly what he means.

I attempt to look at the symbols Mitch has painted, but just looking at them makes my head spin with suppressed memories trying to break free. They appear to be simplistic: an X drawn through a circle. All of them look nearly perfect. I reach out and wave a hand above one of the papers. It feels like I've plunged my hand onto a mushy pudding, and I yank my limb back, trying not to gag.

"Okay," Mitch says, accepting my proposal without missing a beat, "now for the hard part."

"What?" I ask because everyone is staring at me.

"The ring," Jack says, and leaves it at that.

I look down at the ring on my index finger, "Take off the ring?"

He nods slightly.

"You're probably going to have to hold me down for that," I say, not joking, "It hurts like hell to take it off."

"Here," Mitch says, "give me your hand."

I see Jack tense as the man steps close to me. I get the sense that he doesn't completely trust Mitch.

The proxy takes my hand daintily, as if he's afraid I might crumble into dust, and deftly twists the ring from my finger, frowning at the shiny scar tissue beneath.

The second that the metal breaks contact with my skin I feel it: that alien presence that is both me and not me, outside of my own mind, yet inside my head. I make a desperate swipe for the ring, but Mitch steps back too fast.

My vision is starting to go red now, and I lunge forward with a snarl, making not for the ring, but for Mitch's eyes. Jack snags me out of the air, despite having been on the opposite side of the room only a moment before. He pulls me away from the terrified man, physically restraining me as I twist, full of anger and pain and fear.

Jack's response is to press me close to him, my head against his chest, and holding tight so that I can't wriggle. The method works surprisingly well, because his blood-and-disinfectant smell calms me down.

I take a deep breath and feel the empty place where my heart used to be in my chest. I step back from Jack, trying to get myself to see things straight, but everything seems just out of focus, a tad shaky. Strange things are coming into my head, snippets of information. Two of the prominent ones are that Jack is approximately 90 years old, and his native language is German. Two plus two makes four, and this is why I take an involuntary step back when he reaches out to touch me.

Then I remember myself and see the brief flicker of hurt on his face. I shake my head a couple times, trying to clear it. Something is very wrong.

"I'm okay," I say, breathing hard.

"Alright," Jack allows, "tell me if you feel weird."

I nod, but don't tell him about the way my head is spinning. I have a feeling that fits into the normal category.

Mitch curses and I turn around to see that one of the jars has overturned and the liquid is spilling onto the floor. It appears to be burning though the tiles and separating into beads of different hues: red, clear, and black. It looks vaguely alive.

Kaylee chooses this moment to walk into the room, followed by all three of her younger children.

I dart outside before she can start shouting, Jack right behind me.

I waste no time in burying my face in Jeff's jacket, despite the fact that I can feel how tense he is, and let him hug me back.

I hear Hobo-Heart jump out of the tree. "What's going on?" He asks, curious and a little scared.

I shake my head, no speaking, but Jeff hands me off to the gemberling, and I don't resist.

I hear the Killer chuckle, "Isn't it going to be hard when she's not like this anymore?" He asks.

"Yes," Jack says, "it is."

* * *

**AN:** *Holds up _Ptolemy's Gate_* If you need me, I'll be crying in the corner.


	59. Chapter 59: Lea

**AN:** *Pulls the string on a party popper* yay~! If I hadn't messed up the countdown so much this would be much more satisfying, but screw it: here we are, finally!

* * *

[32] Reunion

7 June, 9:00 PM

59\. Lea

"Okay, look," Mitch says to me, measuring the lines between the symbols for the hundredth time. "I'm not going to tell you this is going to be easy or that you're not going to be scared because, honestly, I don't know how you're going to react.

I nod, watching Jeff and Jack arguing, or appearing to argue. I can tell because they've both gone perfect rigidly still aside from speaking.

"Are you listening to me?" Mitch asks

"Yes," I turn my head to look at them.

"You really have a fixation on them, don't you?"

I shrug, and say, as if it's no big deal, "When they're around I don't feel like hurting myself or anyone else."

He sighs, not fazed at all, "I'm not going to argue."

The ache in my chest is pounding again, and I keep wanting to reach up and rub the side of my head. That started worrying Jack, so I'm trying not to do it.

"You're going to have to reach out," Mitch continues his lecture, "that doesn't make sense right now, and I'm not going to explain it, but you'll need physical contact. It shouldn't be a problem."

I nod, "Physical Contact." I reach out and touch his arm.

Mitch frowns at me. His eyes look past me, and I assume at Jeff. "You really get a kick out of making me squirm, don't you?"

"Nothing I like more," I say, grinning.

"Okay," He says, "I think that's everything. Let's get started."

Ana, who up until this point has been skulking at the edge of the building, steps outside. Despite all three of them being dosed with the pills, she's elected to babysit Minerva and Taylor and keep them well out of the way. The males will be out there with them, but they're waiting a bit longer before evacuating.

Jack pulls me into a hug before I have time to protest. I shock myself by relaxing slightly once I'm close to his freezing-cold skin. "You'll know what to do," he says quietly.

Jeff tries to make do with patting my back, then looks up at Jack and sighs. He pulls me into a hug as well. Hobo-Heart is standing farther back, looking awkward.

I roll my eyes, "Hobo is the only one who isn't acting like this is my funeral."

Jeff's eyes flick to Mitch, "It could be. We don't know how this will turn out."

"My advice is that if the tie isn't red, run like hell," The Observer says cheerily.

"And if something goes wrong we'll be right here," Jack assures me, but I know if something goes wrong they won't be rushing to my aid. They'll wait until I'm dead, and then Jack will come and cut out what can be salvaged from my guts.

"Sure," I say, putting as much skepticism into the word as possible.

Jack shrugs, knowing he's not fooling me.

Hobo steps forward suddenly and hugs me. He presses a kiss onto my forehead before stepping back.

"Alright," I say, "I just uncover the last symbol, right?"

"Yup," Mitch says, "and step back a few feet after you do."

I nod, take a deep breath, "Okay. Let's do this." Or, more accurately, I'll do this.

They trail out of the room, Mitch pulling his mask over his face as he goes. I head the door being barred behind them.

I scowl and turn to look at the room around me. It was a good idea to do this here; the roof is high, there's plenty of space to fight if need be, and four flat straight walls. It's large enough that it takes half a minute to walk from one wall to the other. I don't want to scare the creature that's going to appear, so this is probably the best place to do it.

I take a breath and step forward to yank back the sheet covering the symbol in the middle of the floor. I feel it immediately. The power catches my mind, pulses with my heartbeat, and forces my presence up and out of my body. It effectively turns the warehouse into a satellite broadcasting my mental presence. Why I can feel all of this I don't know, but not I feel as if I'm outside of my body, watching everything from the third-person perspective.

I force myself back into my own body and shake my head. My arms and legs are tense and heavy. My breath is catching in my chest. The burn from the ring tingles as if, if the ring were still there, it would be searing through my flesh.

I know that this must look very strange to the people watching through the window because to them I seem to be simply standing on the spot. They can't see the thoughts spinning in my head, a hurricane of a hundred different sensations all at once.

If this doesn't work I'm going to kill them. I decide that I'm going to have to. It's seems to be a sure-fire way to get where I want to. I'm going to start with Jack, because the second he understood what I was going through he should have killed me himself and been done with it.

I turn around and look at the people peering through the windows along the sidewall. I find Jack and make eye contact with him. I see all the blood drain out of his face, leaving it an unpleasant light gray color. He ducks out of sight, causing a ripple-effect as the others look down at him.

That's when I feel it, the split second when no one is looking at the array. My mind stops being pulled out of my body. It thunks into place, leaving me wholly in control of my own being. I take a breath, feeling the sense of reality at my back.

I know that if I turn around there is no going back. If I don't turn around I can go back to the house, pack up my stuff, and leave, but if I turn around there will be no running away. I get a choice.

I turn around because I can't live not knowing.

The creature is so tall that I have to tilt my head back to look at its face, but when I get there, there is no face. There's no way to identify it as an individual. The immaculate suit that the creature wears is paired with a red tie, but I am unsure what this proves. The figure is so thin it's almost emaciated. I can see the sharp angles of bones under the clothing. I don't know what I'm looking at.

The creature seems to come alive slowly, painfully. It takes a breath, then another. A halo of squirming tentacles writhe their way out of its back and wave in the air. I'm reminded of Neil's father's snake.

Then it tilts its head, just like Jack does, and I feel a burst of trust and recognition. In that moment, I stop caring about the people behind me, about the feeling of the array, about the emptiness in my chest. This is something important.

The creature presses its hands against the air, like a mime doing the invisible box gag. The tentacles explore a seemingly enclosed space barely large enough to house the being.

I understand then what Mitch meant. I have to reach out and touch it.

I take a step on unsteady legs and reach out shaking hands. My rational mind is at war with itself, the part that says this is crazy at war with the part that is perfectly fine with the two people I care about most in the world being a serial killer and am apparently undead Nazi who can only eat human organs. The second portion wins out, and I move forward again. My hands meet a solid glass-like surface, smooth and hard. I look at my hands in confusion: something must be wrong.

I knock experimentally: solid.

The creature has lowered its head as far as it can in the cramped space. It seems to be looking at me. I stretch up and rest my forehead against the solid surface so that our skin is only a centimeter apart. I want to touch it so badly; it feels like my whole body is vibrating.

I step back and pace around the creature, checking if the barrier is solid on all sides.

The second I'm out of its line of sight, or where the line of sight would be if the creature had eyes, its breathing hitches, then speeds up. It's hyperventilating, but trying not to.

I think about the space so small the creature can barely move, and I understand.

I spin around and find Mitch in the window, trying to convey with my eyes what I need. He just stares at me, uncomprehending.

I hurry to the glass and knock on it, then slide the glass pane aside, the metal shrieking on concrete as I move it.

"How," I say, my voice tight with worry, "do I take the array down?"

Mitch stares at me, confused, "What do you mean?"

"Oh for the love of—" I break off, reach down to the symbol on the wall beneath the windows, and rip it from the wall. The corners stay up, held by the duct tape. I ball it up and throw it through the window, right into the proxy's face.

I hear the shouts of protest as I turn away and jog to the next symbol, moving counterclockwise. I tear that one down, then go to the next one. There's panic outside now, and I can hear Minerva and Taylor shouting words that I can't quite make out.

Something hits the door with a metallic thud.

I check on the creature. It has its head down again. I recognize the controlled breathing. It's physically working not to panic. Claustrophobia.

I tear down the last symbol, running the word through my mind again. There's a sound like breaking glass, and I watch the creature take one long step to the side, off of the symbol. The tentacles still their waving and disappear back into it.

I approach warily, but the creature doesn't seem to notice. I don't think it can hear me, but I try a quiet cough anyway. No response.

Okay. I'm a bit freaked out now, but it should be okay. This doesn't feel dangerous, though it should be. Jack and Jeff at least appear semi-human, this creature does not.

There's that attraction to, as if my body recognizes the being as giving comfort. I want that comfort too much to ignore the feeling.

I reach out, hesitantly. The creature's head snaps towards me and goes perfectly still. I pause, letting my eyes slide to the side, away from the creature's head.

It inclines its head slightly, extending one hand slightly.

I reach out and take it, feeling an unnatural heat from its skin. Nothing else happens.

The creature, seemingly distressed, turns my hands in its long fingered version. It takes my hands and pulls it up towards its head. It's a tad forceful, and it makes me wince as I take a step forward.

My fingers brush the creature's forehead, which seems to be its goal because at that moment it drops my hand.

At that moment I am stuck by a bolt of lightning. My mind is flooded with strange sensations, stranger memories. I'm spinning backwards through the last year, the memories of this creature lining up with my own. There's so much grief, sadness, worry, fear, and a longing; a need for something I don't understand except that it has my name.

The last memory that comes across is panic, coming back from _hunting_ to find my bed empty. Then there's panic, anger, grief. The stream of memories stops forcefully, as if he's shut it off.

My legs turn into jelly as my brain tries to cope with all of the new sensations. I have three different kinds of sight, and senses that humans don't even have the concept of. I can still feel his mind pressing against mine, open and unexpectedly raw and sensitive.

The person who calls himself Slender scoops me off the ground at the same moment that my knees buckle. It's an unexpectedly comfortable position; he obviously knows how to hold me. Even so, I can feel how warm he is, and how defined his ribs are beneath his clothes.

I do the only thing I can do while I'm reeling in shock and trying to sort through all the new memories. I wrap my arms around his neck, rest my head beside his, and let him hold me.

* * *

**AN:** If, for some reason, I forget to edit next week's chapter to run parallel to this version, please yell at me.


	60. Chapter 60: Slender

**AN:** This one took a lot out of me, I have to tell you guys. For reasons both obvious and not. There will be no update next week and possibly for the rest of the month. I have stuff I need to do. AP Testing, performances for the spring musical at my school, and the SAT next Saturday.

If you get bored you can go read Survival or something. I decided to play with my good buddy Herobrine, who I have deliberately not used in this story. Go meet him.

* * *

[32] Reunion

7 June, 9:05 PM

60\. Slender

I don't know how long I've been dozing when the thing catches my attention. It wakes me up, sort of. The light is blinding and not at all painful. It's a beacon, and all I want to do is get to it.

I've seen something similar once before; an array to catch me and hold me in place, but the connection doesn't seem to be there.

I get to my feet, slowly, and move towards it—

I'm suddenly standing in a warehouse. It's not particularly large, but it's large enough, at least a hundred feet across. I know immediately that I am trapped in an array: I can see the four symbols on the walls around me.

I wake myself up slowly, painfully. I don't want to wake up: I want to sleep forever, but I've been on the receiving end of a botched changing before and this time I fully intend to break a wrist or two.

I explore the space around me, defined by the size of the symbol beneath me. It's not large, nowhere near large enough for my comfort. I can feel my claustrophobia taking hold.

That's when I see her.

I would recognize her anywhere, no matter what state she was in. I'm filled with an intense mad longing that drives all thoughts of suffocation out of my head.

I can't communicate when I'm inside an array-I don't think I can bear to touch her mind without the underlying connection anyway-so instead I tilt my head, mimicking a movement I've seen Jack when he looks at her, and press my hands against the invisible barrier.

I see the confusion and fear clear from her eyes, and for the first time in eleven months I feel myself relax enough to realize just how stressed I've been. It's been almost a year since someone looked at me with that much trust in their eyes.

Lea takes an unsteady step forward, raising her own hands to mirror me. As she reaches out I feel my heartbeat jump, the place where my stomach should be lurch, but her hands stop a centimeter away from mine. She can't pass through the barrier. I forgot about that.

A frown passes across Lea's face, uncertainty obvious.

I lower my head as much as I can and rest it against the surface, willing her to get the message. She stretches up on tip-toe and rests her head against the other side of the barrier.

She steps back and starts to walk around the container, running a hand over the solid surface. She never actually leaves my sight, but the moment that she's not in front of me anymore I become aware of how small of a space I'm in, and I start to hyperventilate again. I don't want to pass out, but I can't control my breathing.

Lea returns to stand in front of me almost immediately, understanding on her face. She spins to look at something, then jogs to the wall and throws all of her weight against a window pane to slide it open. Even from inside the array I feel the vibration of the sound it makes. Lea says something through the window, speaking to someone that, judging by what little ambience can come through the array, is probably Mitch. Jeff and Jack are out there too, clear as day, but I decide to see how I feel about that later.

Lea loses her patience and simply tears the symbol off the wall, which is exactly what she should do. Under my hands the barrier becomes less solid, stickier. I pull back to spare myself the sensation.

I rest my head against the barrier and wait. This place is big, and it's almost two minutes before Lea has removed the last support symbol. By that time I'm beginning to feel light-headed from too much oxygen.

I step off the symbol and focus on taking even breaths. I'm aware I've shrunk quite a bit out of fear, but as my heartbeat calms I feel my body returning to its regular height.

I don't notice Lea approaching until she's very close to me. Then I look toward her topo fast, too abruptly. She flinches back, her left hand, outstretched slightly, retracts.

I incline my head and extend my own right hand, knowing without a doubt that she will take it, and she does. I wait a moment, thinking that maybe the connection is being slow to form, but nothing happens.

Lea, having noticed my dismay, says something I can't hear, and that maybe she's not aware of. Her fingers are cool against my palm, trembling with nervousness or fear, or maybe something else.

If my heart hadn't already been shattered, it would be breaking. As it is, I'm faced with a dilemma. I cannot live without Lea, this I know, but can I bear to live with a Lea that cannot hear my thoughts of feel my mind? The answer is no.

I make a decision: I pull Lea toward me, maybe a little too forcefully, half-crouching and consciously reducing my height so that she can reach my head. If this doesn't work, I'm going to have to kill her.

But it does. The moment Lea's fingers brush my forehead all the color comes back into the world. The pain in my chest deepens to an ache so intense that I'm afraid Lea can feel it.

Even before her mind floods mine I can tell that she doesn't remember anything. Her mind is too light, too empty. It hurts my pride a little, because I really want her to remember.

I take a moment to rifle through her memories, barely glancing at them, and then put them where the others are. Lea hasn't any better off than me. I construct a wall in my own mind so that she can't see the memories older than a year.

She stumbles, like her legs can't hold her, and I scoop her up off the ground. That wakes her up a little, and Lea puts her arms around my neck and rests her head beside mine.

We stay like that for a moment. Touching her has brought on a rush of thankfulness and gratification that's rendered me incapable of words. I can sense the endorphin rush in Lea's mind too, and under that a simple acceptance. This is the same emotion she's been feeling for days, especially around Jack. She doesn't dislike the contact, but she doesn't understand why it's being given to her.

I decide to give her the answer.

"You have no idea how glad I am you're okay," I say to her.

She blinks, and straightens up in my arms. The shift in her weight makes me suddenly aware of how weak I am. I know I can't hold her for hours like I had to when the nightmares were particularly bad. In fact I already felt the urge to put her down.

I set my head against her shoulder. The ball of pain in my chest is starting to expand, but I push it down. Later, in private, I'll let that happen.

I feel a flicker of concern in Lea's mind as her inherent affection for me takes over.

"Are you okay?" She asks. I can fee. The vibrations her voice makes in the air.

"I'm better now," I set her down, feeling an unforgivable relief as her weight leaves my arms. "Go with them."

Lea looks up at me, alarmed, "Where are you going?"

"I'll stay nearby." I press my mind against hers, and she returns the pressure.

"Okay," She says, "I'm going."

I watch her skip to the door, and then pop it open easily. Obviously it's been unbarred. The other side is heavily dented, and Lea hesitates, looking at it.

"What hit that?" She asks.

"Me," Jeff says. He's bleeding from a deep gash on his head, presumably from where the handle of the door his him on his way back. The person with the corresponding blood spatter it Taylor, whose name I know because of Lea's memories. I share her surprise at the situation.

"What _are_ you doing?" Lea asks the girl.

Taylor struggles free of the combined grips of Mitch and Ana, "Saving your ass."

I decide this is a good time to leave and flicker out of existence. I settle in the gray-scape world and watch from there.

Genuine bewilderment crosses Lea's face, "What from?"

"From the Slenderman," Taylor says slowly, her brow furrowed.

"Why would you need to save me from him?" Lea asks, "He's the last person who's going to hurt me."

"Welcome to the weird stuff." Jack proclaims, and goes back to digging through his bag. He passes Jeff a pad of gauze for him to hold against the cut, but he doesn't touch him. That's odd. I've seen the two men exchange a friendly touch more than few times.

Lea picks up on the thought and I comfort her with a nudge. They definitely haven't had any kind of fight, or one or both of them wouldn't be here.

"You okay?" Minerva asks Lea, concerned, "You look woozy."

Lea smiles honestly, possibly for the first time ever in Minerva's presence. "Ya. I feel like I was hit by lightning."

"Really?" Mitch flicks open his notebook.

Lea senses my hesitation and closes her mouth tight. "You call it a Changing, right?" She says slowly, "you already know what it is."

Mitch blinks, surprised by Lea's sudden reversion to her prickly personality.

I attempt to disconnect from the conversation, giving Lea a goodbye nudge. I sense her frown.

"Let's go back," she says to the people around her. She pushes her mind into mine, nuzzling like I did when I first hugged her.

"Not now," I say.

"You're hurting," She murmurs aloud.

"I'm fine."

"No you're not. Go wait at the house."

"Lea—"

"No arguing," She pauses, "Slend"—that's what I want to be called—"I'll be right there."

"Who are you talking to?" Taylor asks Lea.

"God," Lea says, only half-joking.

"Uh…" the girl trails off.

"Stay put," Lea tells me, trying out her mental voice, "no excuses."

I sigh, but I'm not really mad.

I flicker into Lea's room that's not her room at all. Like her apartment, it screams her presence. This is fresher; all the scents are sharp and the surfaces without dust.

Again I feel the pain in my chest expand and again I push it down. I need to release it, I know, but not for a few more minutes.

Laughing Jack isn't in the room, and in fact isn't even in the house, so I lock the trapdoor. I don't want anyone walking into the room with me in it. I'm just going to wait for Lea.

There's the marionette of Isaac Grossman on the windowsill, posed so that he seems to be looking out the window. On the dresser is a stack of text books. She hasn't returned her Biology textbook from the fall semester, but that subject is her favorite.

The bed has far too many blankets on it. The only time Lea's ever needed this many in the past was during a freezing night spent in the cabin in Montana. That also happens to be the only time we ever slept cuddled up together, because we were both too cold to care.

As soon as the thought crosses my mind I desperately need Lea with me.

I remove a couple of the blankets because I need to be doing something. She can put them back later if she wants to.

I sense the door opening downstairs and feel the vibrations of people entering the house. I tune back into Lea's side of proceedings.

"I'm going upstairs," Lea says, "yell if anyone gets killed." My comfortableness with violence has affected her perception of the world.

She's up the stair and the ladder in seconds and pushing at the trapdoor. I unlock it and she climbs into the room, locks the door again.

I start to say something, but Lea stops me by throwing her arms around my stomach. I don't react for a moment, and then I crouch and gather her into my arms.

Lea rests her head so that her breath is against my neck.

"It's okay," she whispers aloud, "you're going to be okay. I'm right here."

The pain rushes up, and I back up and sit down on the edge of the bed to stop myself from collapsing. There's a half second of confusion where Lea is entirely uncertain of what's happening. She recognizes the shaking for what it is in the next few heartbeats.

"Oh," She says, voice harsh with surprise before it softens the next moment, "Oh, it's okay to cry."

I rest my head against her shoulder again, and relax into the simultaneously alien and familiar sensation of her hands rubbing my back.

The crying doesn't last long, but Lea doesn't seem to be in a hurry to move away. I shift her so that all of her weight is in the crook of my elbow, letting me hold her without feeling self-conscious.

Finally, from her place with her head against my shoulder, Lea says, "You took off some of my blankets."

"You don't need that many." I regret the sentence immediately: too aggressive, too assuming.

She sighs, "I'm always cold."

"Even now?"

"No but—," She pauses, "No: I'm not."

I set her down beside me, letting her slip out of my arms. I'm too weak to hold her like that for any longer. I can tell that she's only humoring me anyway: giving me what I want without really understanding why.

"Do you want anything?" She asks, "warm milk, soup?" I get the message: I'm much too thin for her to believe any kind of assertion that I'm healthy.

I give the offer some thought. It's been a long time since anyone offered me food. "Milk," I say finally, "please."

"Coming right up," Lea reaches up for a moment before leaving, resting her head against my neck. There's a moment where she almost nuzzles at me.

Then she's up and out of the room, leaving a tingling trail across my skin. She retrieves Laughing Jack's music box from the closet before she goes.

I forgot that she has a boyfriend here, and not a very nice one. She's probably reading everything that I do as if it were him. I need to watch myself. I can't let Lea see me that way. She's going to flip everything on its head when she remembers.

I can't let myself get too accustomed to that kind of contact. Such tender touches are few and far between with Lea. There's nothing between us.


	61. Chapter 61: Lea

[32] Reunion

7 June, 9:30 PM

61\. Lea

I take Laughing Jack's music box downstairs and glance around. A sort of contented silence has fallen. Jeff has cocooned himself in a blanket and is asleep on the couch, silent and still except for the rise and fall of his chest.

In front of the couch, Hobo-Heart is sitting across from Ben, staring intently at the chess board in front of him. Even as I watch Ben blurs slightly and a piece shifts forward a square. Hobo is oblivious to the cheating, but he is winning so I suppose it won't make much difference.

I feel a sudden rush from affection for them, and am surprised to find that it's mostly from Slender. Obviously there is a history there, but he won't let me see the memories or any memories at all.

Through my third version of sight, the one that makes everyone look like stars, I can also see something in the upper corner of the room. It's in the deepest shadows, and because I know where everyone else is, I decide that this must be Laughing Jack.

I walk over to below the spot and stretch up, holding the music box up above my head. There's a moment of stillness where everyone looks at me, confused, and then a black-and-white hand reaches down and takes the box from me. Mitch looks genuinely terrified. Ben gives a little whoop of laughter at the human's reaction.

I ignore the weird looks and go outside to find Jack. He seems to have grown fond of the huge pine tree, and now he's sitting with his back to it. He doesn't appear to be doing much of anything, but when I reach him and sit down he doesn't look up.

"Jack?" I say.

"Enjoying your new best friend?" He snaps back, and I flinch because I didn't think he was capable of such venom.

I sit there for a second, blinking at him dumbly. Slender pushes something into my mind, and I turn my attention to that automatically. "Oh," I say, then to Jack, "I have been reading you all wrong."

Jack buries his face against my shoulder abruptly. One arm wraps around my waist and yanks me close to him. He doesn't cry, but for the first time I feel the rawness of him, and emotions that are the only type of pain he can feel thrumming through his frame. It's sort of like when Slender was crying, except this isn't because of me. This is a mourning of something greater than I will ever be, and it speaks of years upon years lost in search of the thing.

When Jack raises his head he removes his glasses with a sigh. He wipes his eyes with the back of a hand and replaces them without looking at me. His arm is still around me, but not tight now, but like he's afraid I'll shatter into little porcelain shards. Or maybe that I'll run away screaming.

I set my head on his shoulder, still slightly shaken. Jack doesn't seem at all bothered by the contact.

"Jack," I say finally, "what should I give to someone malnourished?"

He sighs again, "For your boss? I don't think it matters." After a moment he continues, "Start with liquids. Nothing really hard to digest for a couple weeks at least."

"Okay. Thanks." I stay there for a couple minutes, partly for Jack, because I can sense he's using the contact to rebuild himself, and partly because I just enjoy it.

"What do you mean you've been reading me wrong?" He asks.

I clear my throat, trying to phrase the sentence, "I assumed that you didn't need support. It seems stupid now."

He sighs, "A lot of people make that mistake. Don't worry about it."

"I'm right here if you need me."

"We're all here for each other all the time. That's how it works."

The words stir something in the back of my head, and I feel Slender gently squash it, stopping its growth.

I stand up without warning Jack, leaving his arm down around my knees. He withdraws it, a slightly perplexed look on his half-visible face.

"Back to work," I say, brushing off my legs. I look up at the house. Ana is standing at the window, looking out at Jack and I sitting under the tree. Her shoulders are set and her jaw clenched.

Jack gets to his feet behind me and touches my arm. I turn my head and look at him. "Tell me if he hurts you," He says, "I can help you."

I nod, not doubting the words. I can't begin to understand why, but I don't think I'll need to lean on Jack quite that much.

He leads the way into the house by a step and sits down without ceremony besides Hobo-Heart, his back to the sofa.

I go to get a mug from the cupboard, and then pause, turning it in my hands.

"What about tea?" I ask Slender.

"Please," he says, then goes back to whatever he's doing. He won't let me see it, but it's nothing bad. I can tell that much. I fill the mug with water and start the microwave, still mostly focused on his site of things.

I stretch up into the cupboard again, but higher this time. The teabags are on the very top shelf. I find the most expensive variety, the one that even Kaylee barely ever touches, and take one of those. By now the water is hot, and a dunk the bag in without a thought.

Ana is watching me. Is that jealousy I see in her eyes for a split second? Surely not: there's nothing to be jealous of. This is just how things are.

Poe breaks the silence by meowing at me, curling around my ankles and almost tripping me. I resist the urge to kick him. I must not be cruel. I climb the ladder carefully, one handed.

The trap door has been opened already, and the cat follows me into the room. He doesn't seem at all bothered by the being examining the torn photograph, probably because he thinks it's some bizarre furniture.

The war inside me starts up again: the need for emotional and physical intimacy against the feeling that, besides being nonhuman, this creature may be worse than Neil ever was. The human was never inside my head, after all.

The being who calls himself Slender looks at me. Poe hisses in fear and surprise. He bolts back down the ladder.

"Here," I offer Slender the mug of tea, taking two steps closer and immediately feeling both tingly and vulnerable. He takes it almost gingerly, not even letting his fingers brush mine.

"Thank you."

I turn around to close and lock the door, and when I turn back he has the mug raised to his face. A crack has appeared in the smooth white of his head, about where his mouth should be. He appears to be drinking the tea. He apparently finds it agreeable, as he makes as if he's going to gulp all of it down in one swallow.

"Slow," I find myself saying, "don't make yourself sick."

Slender lowers the mug obediently.

I'm intensely aware of him watching me, but I'm not sure what to do. Finally I walk to the desk and sit in the chair in front of it. As soon as I sit down I feel tired: so tired that I could sleep for half a day. I'm cold too, suddenly so cold that I can feel my teeth trying to chatter. I do my best to hide both sensations from Slender's mind, and wait patiently while he finishes his drink.

"What is it?" he asks, startling me.

"It's nothing," I reply automatically."

He doesn't respond, but I get the message: there's no use trying to fool him.

"What do you want?" I ask.

He pauses, sets the empty mug aside. I expect him to side-step the question, since that's what people normally do. The silence stretches so long that I grow vaguely uncomfortable.

Finally he says, "I don't know."

I blink, unable to respond.

"I'm not going to make you do anything," He goes on, "I don't want you to hate me."

"Oh," I say. As soon as he says it, I feel an intense anxiety relieved from me. It's similar to the feeling I had when conversing with Jeff for the first time. There's trust here, a trust that cannot be broken. I'm also honestly relieved that, contrary to Jack's suspicions, Slender is not an obvious threat to my safety.

I let the subject drop, and watch his shoulders relax.

"You're tired," I say because he is. I can feel the exhaustion over the link.

"Where should I sleep?" He asks. He sounds hesitant. I'm surprised he can portray such complex emotions with only a mental voice.

"You're fine there." I say, not allowing myself to think about it. I stand up and find my pajamas.

Slender makes an audible huffing noise, the equivalent of a sigh, I sense. I step into the bathroom to change.

My hands pause over the hook of my bra. I'll leave it on. It's not that uncomfortable, and I want to be wearing one for some reason.

I don't even know where I'm going to sleep, with Slender in my bed and Jeff claiming the couch downstairs. That, and there's the small matter of Hobo-Heart. I trust Jack to accurately judge his own appetite, but not Hobo. He could tear my heart out at any moment. If I slept near Jeff I'd probably be fine, but I'm not feeling up to snuggling with a killer right now.

I leave the bathroom still undecided, though I've come to the conclusion that I should probably just sleep on the floor. Slender is already curled up on his side under the few blankets left on the bed. It's too short for him to stretch all the way out. He has his head nested into the pillow I usually use. I know with a sudden conviction that when he's on a larger bed he lays diagonally across it, and that way he doesn't have to bend his limbs, though he usually does anyway.

Looking at him, I realize I have another option. I don't have to cuddle with Jeff or sleep on the floor: I can stay here with Slender.

I turn off the light and breathe in the darkness of the room. There's that same heavy musky smell that I've come to associate with Jeff and Jack, and now with Slender. I shiver with a cold I know is imagined.

I cross back to the bed and sit on its edge. Slender is still awake, and he makes a happy sort of growling a my presence.

"Goodnight," he says in my mind.

Without a word I pull back and sheets and slip into the bed next to him. Instantly, all the contentment evaporates from his mind.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Going to sleep," I say, fumbling for the extra pillow and fluffing it up. All I want to do is sleep, maybe against his chest, and just have some kind of real intimacy for once in my life.

Slender catches the thought and sighs. He sits up, and gently pulls me with him. "We're not together, Lea, and we never have been."

"What?"

He pauses again, but I'm beginning to adjust to the periods of silence, "I'm not you boyfriend."

"I know," I say. He's nothing like my boyfriend. He's the exact opposite of what I've come to expect from a boyfriend.

I start to lay down again, and he stops me with a gentle touch.

"Lea," he says, and I can tell that the resistance has gone out of him. He wants this just as much as I do. "Promise me that you won't be angry when you remember."

"I promise," I say at once.

"And I want you to realize that you were the one who got into bed with me."

"I know that. I just did it."

"I'm going to remind you of this conversation when you're yelling at me after you remember."

I pause, and think about what he's saying. "Was a raped?" I ask.

Slender wraps me in a hug, "No, no you weren't, but it was a close call."

I don't respond, just sit there blinking. Even though I can very clearly feel his ribs and his arms are thin and disproportionately weak, it feels good to have him hug me. He's warm. And, very obviously, it was him who stopped me from being raped. What am I supposed to say to that?

"Can we go to sleep now?" I ask.

"Yes. I think so," he releases me, and I lay down, turning so that my back is to him. A moment later Slender lays down next to me, his weight making the mattress give slightly. I slide down, not entirely propelled by gravity alone, until I'm against his chest.

Slender chuckles, which is a sound unlike anything I've ever heard before. He puts one arm about me, and slips the other under my pillow. Even through the padding it feels bony.

"Goodnight," he says again.

"Goodnight," I reply, really meaning it. After he falls asleep, which doesn't take long at all, I add, "Thank you."

I settle into Slender's chest and fall asleep.


	62. Chapter 62: Slender

**AN:** I have finals in three days. I hope you all appreciate the study time I sacrificed to type this up. I'm putting this sassy author's note here because if I don't people apparently get nervous.

Also, I'm now offering myself as a beta reader, as well as looking for a beta reader to review Survival for me. This series of fics has always had errors in it, and you guys can survive the last few chapters with them.

* * *

[33] Bonds

8 June, 7:30 AM

62\. Slender

When I wake up I can't remember where I am for a few moments. I'm aware of comfort, warmth, soft blankets over me. There's a body against mine, still except for breath.

My first thought is that, somehow, Natasha found where I was sleeping, but no: the bars of light through the window reveal that her hair is dark, not red, and her skin is pale, and she's wearing a tank top with a bra on beneath it.

I press my head against Lea's hair and let myself cry again, mostly because it's insane to go from nothing to waking up with her in my arms. I can only hope she forgives me.

I drift off to sleep again, holding her tight to me.

The second time I wake up there's no one next to me except the cat, apparently unaware that I am anything other than normal. He's purring.

I move and the cat meows in protest. He bats at me with a paw. I reach out with my mind and he purrs again, recognizing the contact. A cat's mind is not like a human's. It's all instinctive unconscious connection. I give Poe a nudge and he jumps over me, and settles in the hollow left by Lea's body. There, surrounded by her scent, he's much more amiable.

I reach out and gingerly touch the cat on the head. His fur is unexpectedly soft. He sniffs at my hand, then presses up and rubs back and forth against my fingers. This is new experience for me. In fact, the entire day promises to be full of new and strange things.

I sit up, not fast enough to spook the cat, but the three children on the ladder squeal and vanish from sight. They pop back up a moment later. We look at each other, their eyes wide and paralyzing, and my appearance keeping them entranced. I'm just about to make them look away when Lea brushes across my mind, curious.

The giggles at the situation, oblivious or not caring that I was about to hurt the children in order to get free.

"You could help," I tell her.

"You're a big boy." She's teasing me. I don't know how to respond.

"Lea,"

She must realize how nervous I am because there's a pause, and then Lea calls aloud, "Janey, Daniel, Adrian, leave the Slenderman alone."

It doesn't do much, but it does enough. The three kids look down guiltily, and I flicker into a standing position next to the bed. Tentacles squirm into the air, and I move them into a writhing halo around my head.

The two boys scream and vanish again, this time for good. Janey, the little girl, doesn't so much as flinch. She's been around Laughing Jack for far too long.

I tentatively touch her mind. She's been dosed with the pills, but I could still hurt her if I wanted to. I don't, of course.

"Hello," I say.

Janey looks at me, big round eyes holding me still, and says, "Are you a monster?"

I pause to think about that. It's not a question I've been asked before. "Yes," I reply finally.

Janey visibly brightens and climbs the rest of the way into the room. "That's okay. Laughing Jack says he's a monster too, and he's really nice."

I tilt my head, amused despite myself. The clown is downstairs, I sense. Far enough away.

"Laughing Jack also says Lea makes him think about that kind of thing because she's not like most humans. Does Lea make you think you're a monster?"

"No," just the opposite, "and she shouldn't make Laughing Jack feel that way."

"I don't think she does," the girl says.

I feel Lea relax slightly. Her mind is against mine, but not overwhelmingly so. It's the equivalent of her leaning against my side. Whatever the reason for it, I'm grateful for the contact.

"Are you Lea's boyfriend?" Janey asks.

"No," I say immediately.

"That's good. I like that Jack person better."

Lea laughs, and I huff, but it's impossible to be mad when she's laughing.

"What?" I hear from her side of things. Jack's voice, soft because he doesn't need to speak up.

"Janey thinks we're cute together," Lea tells him.

"Well, we are."

Lea wrinkles her nose.

"Don't give them any ideas," I say to Janey, nudging Lea's mind as I do.

The little girl skips right past my words, "Are you going to come downstairs?"

I turn my attention to Lea, and she murmurs, "You should." When I don't immediately respond she continues, "Minerva is already at school and Kaylee is still asleep."

"Okay," I scoop Janey off the ground without thinking. She squeals, and I sense Laughing Jack react immediately.

I suddenly recall a hundred children that I've killed. I know the reaction that humans have towards children—Lea is human after all. I'm questioning my motives for the hundredth time. Why do I have to kill children?

I flicker downstairs, feeling the little body tense as the other-worldly air floods her lungs. She coughs a couple times as I hand her to Lea.

She in turn, passes her off to Jack. He cradles her, frowning at the way her eyes are glazed. If I see eviscerated corpses, what does he remember?

Jeff is asleep on the couch in the same position as he was 8 hours ago, so I flicker over Hobo-Heart's body and sit in the only armchair in the room. The next second Lea is sitting next to me, on the arm of the chair, revealing her habit to be nearly innate. She rests her head against mine.

Jack covers Janey's eyes, "Don't look."

Lea makes a face and Janey pulls his fingers away, annoyed. He sets her down on the floor. I couldn't care less what Jack has to say. Nothing can spoil my mood right now.

"Lea," calls a woman's voice from upstairs, "Can you make breakfast?"

"Sure," Lea replies. She hops up again, steps over Hobo-Heart, and starts doing something I don't bother paying attention to. I'm more concerned about Jack, who I know is not happy to see me.

"She really cares about you, doesn't she?" He asks.

"Of course she does," it's difficult not to care about someone that you know as well as she knows me.

He makes a dissatisfied humming noise.

"Sorry I threw you against a wall," I say, on impulse.

He doesn't even look up. "Don't worry about it. I've been through worse."

That almost makes me feel worse about the whole ordeal.

The cat jumps into my lap, surprising me. He stands looking at me through yellow eyes, expectant. I stroke his fur, and Poe purrs. Jack is looking at me like he can't believe what he's seeing.

I disconnect from Lea's mind so that she can't hear what I'm saying. "You can't give me for leaving her alone and—"

Jack signals for me to stop, looking meaningfully at Janey. She's drawing in a notepad now, holding the crayon in a balled fist. Jack pauses, "No. It doesn't matter, keep going."

"She tried to kill herself. You had to stop her." I finish

"Who can blame her, after what she's been through," Jack says. He waits a beat, "Yes. I can't forgive that."

"I don't blame you. I barely forgave myself."

"Where were you?"

"I don't remember." Somewhere. Killing someone. What I really remember is coming back to find Lea and Jack sitting in a pool of blood, and how Jack shook when he stood up, partly with his slow anger, partly with exhaustion. It was his blood on the floor. Lea had taken the razor blade she meant to slit her wrists with and used it to cut his forearm down to the bone. I recall an urge to comfort him, however vague, but I didn't. I regret it now. I have plenty of limbs to hold two people at once.

Jack is silent. He's thinking hard. "You're like Jeff, aren't you? You just have to sometimes."

"I never know when."

He just nods, but I see his body language relax. He gets to his feet, steps over Hobo-Heart, and leans against the arm of the sofa, arms crossed over his chest.

"Do you want her to remember?" He asks.

I pause to think before I answer because of course I want her to remember, for selfish reasons. At the same time, there's so much trauma, so much that Lea suppresses that might not be suppressed when she remembers, that it might not be a good idea at all. I decide on the truth.

"If she doesn't remember, she'll have to stay here," I say, "she can't come with me, and she won't be safe with you."

"It wouldn't be so bad," Jack says. He's probably already planning a schedule to visit her on.

"Honestly, I don't think she would be alive for very long."

"With Laughing Jack here—"

"She wouldn't be able to handle it," I clarify, "she'd kill someone, or hurt an animal, and then they would take her somewhere else, maybe prison, where we couldn't see her."

"And then she'd…" he trails off. Jack knows Lea well, not as well as I do, but he can trace the string of events. "And people who die by their own hands are never brought back," he says.

It's the first time I've ever heard him mention that he knows about Lea's condition. I'm surprised, but I manage not to let is show.

"You're right," Jack says, "she has to remember. Mostly for our benefit."

I don't reply. I just hope Lea can take the strain. If it drives her mad…there are worse things to be.

Lea walks back over to us, and I reconnect with her mind. She's missed the entire conversation, and I don't let her see the memories. I'm not letting her see any of my memories.

"Want anything?" she asks me silently.

"A book," I reply so that only she can hear, "fiction preferably."

She nods, then says aloud, "Time for breakfast, Janey,"

The little girl scowls, "I don't want to go to school."

"It's not school: it's breakfast. You have to eat either way."

Janey gets up and goes to the table. Lea leaves the room to flush the twin boys out of whatever hiding place they've found their way into. All three of them are at the table before she returns.

Lea offers me a thick white book, and I take it curiously.

"It's Minerva's AP English textbook," she explains, "there isn't much else to read here besides Stephen King, and since you have my memories, you know how those books end."

I open the book, skip past the first chapter—grammar and structure—the second. That's when I get interested.

Lea sits on the arm of my chair, between me and Jack. I slip my arm around her waist but don't look up.

Kaylee comes downstairs. "Lea," she calls, then sees me and jumps. I raise my head, prepared to flicker out of existence if I think it necessary.

The woman clutches at her chest for a moment, shocked, and then, much like Natasha except without the meanness, she gets mad. "Lea, for the last time, what on earth is going on?"

Lea shrugs, lifting Poe out of my lap. "I'm not sure, but I like it."

Kaylee turns on Jack, "then you explain." The being raises his head from his own book, this one a medical textbook. "What the hell gives you the right to—" she breaks off, reacting to the tentacles that have squirmed out of my back.

"You're making him nervous," Lea sing-songs, reaching out to touch one of the extra limbs. It coils reactively around her wrist, but doesn't tighten.

I feel a flashback start to take shape in her hear, and press it down, more gently than I did yesterday.

I make a physical effort and draw the tentacles back into my skin.

Lea touches my arm, "Easy, Slend."

"I'm fine."

There's a knock at the front door, and I let my mind flit over the space. Mitch feels the pressure and fumbles for his mask. Ana is there too, but less concerned. She's not a sensitive as Mitch is to my presence.

"Can I do that?" Lea asks, fascinated by my mind.

"Yes, you can." I hold back the memories that threaten to surface in my own mind. I don't want them to leak over and start her remembering in the wrong order.

Kaylee steps to the door and opens it. Rabbit bounds into the room, tail wagging. He does a couple laps around the table, making Janey laugh and the twins giggle. I feel a rush of fondness. Rabbit is all light.

Well, Mitch says, his voice muffles by the mask, "seems like everything is back to normal here. Almost normal. Jack sitting there is new."

The being doesn't respond. He's still reading.

The humans seem to glance around at the sleeping Jeff and Hobo, and at the three of us sitting there.

"I'm never going to get used to this," Ana says.

Mitch inclines his head to me, "glad to have you back, sir."

Lea laughs, one of the most honest laughs I've heard from her. I have to stop myself from really hugging her.

"I'm sorry," she says in response to the weird looks, "it's just S—"

"Undesignated," I correct quickly.

"Undesignated, a 'sir?'" She grins.

I huff aloud, startling Jack slightly.

"Please," Lea says in her mind, "you're much too sweet." I respond by pressing my mind into hers, as if nuzzling. I see her eyes unfocus at the contact.

"It's just a tradition," Mitch says defensively, "don't ask me why."

Lea stands up. I release her without a fuss, promising myself I'll hold her later.

"Okay kids," she says, "almost time for the bus."

The twins groan and Janey scowls, but Rabbit starts using his nose to poke them in the direction of the door, imitating a sheep dog, and working together Lea and Rabbit get the children to go without complaint soon enough.

I address Mitch then, even though everyone can hear me. "Do you have it?" I ask, aware everyone can hear me.

He nods and holds up a plain white envelope, "Right here."

"Good," I look down, "we should do it before she eats."  
"Yes sir."

Lea comes back into the house, 'Do what?" She tilts her head as I push her the information the needs to know, which isn't much. "That makes sense."

Kaylee opens her mouth, but Mitch says, "The less you know the better."

At that point, Jack reaches over and taps Jeff on the head, and I have to intervene. I whisk Jack off the floor, then flicker out of the chair for good measure, taking him with me.

Less than a second later, Jeff lunges forward and the long knife hits the spot where Jack's eye socket was. The man freezes, shakes his head, blinks.

"Don't do that," he says, his voice rough with sleep. Then he looks at me as I set Jack down. "Oh good; you're here. Don't spook the kid, okay?"

I incline my head. Why would I seek to hurt Hobo-Heart?

"Could we just get the trauma over with, please?" Lea says.

Mitch nods, offering her the envelope. "Here you go."

Before she even takes it, I say, "Lea," warningly, and she looks at me.

"I should warn you…"

* * *

**AN:** Well, I had to stop it somewhere.


	63. Chapter 63: Lea

**AN:** *pulls string on party-popper* *sets off fireworks* *points a roman candle at readers and holds a lighter threateningly* You'd better review.

* * *

[33] Bonds

8 June, 8:00 AM

63\. Lea

"I should warn you…" he trails off, and for the first time I sense a turning-away of his mind. He doesn't want to face this: it hurts him.

"About what?" I ask, keeping my voice soft. I don't even turn my head to look at him, but Mitch doesn't move. He looks expectant.

Slender pauses, again for longer than I'm used to in normal conversation. I pull my hand back and turn around to look at him, lean against the table.

Jeff is shaking Hobo-Heart awake, and Hobo goes from asleep to alert in less than a second. He doesn't jump away from Slender, only looks at him with mild interest.

Finally, Slender finishes the sentence, still so only I can hear it. "You're going to remember things that you don't want to, maybe things that you didn't before."

"And?" I say aloud.

"Focus on me," He says, "I'll be right here."

I nod, reach back to take the envelope from Mitch. He hands it over.

"Why does she have to remember at all?" Kaylee asks suddenly.

To my surprise, I feel Slender's mine expand to include a link to everyone in the room. I see everyone tense instinctively.

"Because," he says, quietly, "if she doesn't, she'll kill you all within the month. Then herself."

I bow my head, knowing that it's true, but not feeling particularly ashamed about it. I simply can't stand the look on Hobo-Heart's face. He just went from loving me to hating my guts.

I rip open the envelope and pull out the single piece of folded paper. It's folded in thirds, very precisely; the bottom edge of the top flap precisely meets the fold of the lower flap.

Mitch backs up, his mast not hiding his fear. I watch Ana do the same and register Jack slowly getting to his feet. Then I unfold the paper and the whole world dissolves.

There's only a single line of text written in the exact center of the page. The writer has obviously had formal schooling in penmanship. It reads, "Kill him for me."

I hear the sound of a neck snapping. It's a very distinctive sound, and I know immediately what it is. I look up, but no one is one the floor, and I realize it's a memory bubbling up from the depths of my mind.

I remember my voice saying those words, twisting into a foreign mind as I whisper them. I remember a wet sticky patch of skin, a heavy hand on my breast, disgust and fear, anger and hatred. There's something else: a being of immense power and the feeling of my memories shredding into so much pillow stuffing.

Then that memory is gone, replaced by Slender. Comfort, warmth, soothing voices, a vague uncertainty about nightmares.

Farther back, the memories coming in a rush now. There's Jeff. Something about Jeffery. Red on white, bloody water, a razor blade.

I feel anger-fueled by terror and guilt-bloom in my chest.

I stand up slowly, forcing down memories trying to get free. I have something to say.

I look at Hobo-Heart, "Now I'm going to yell at him."

Jeff sighs, trying to look like he doesn't care, but I can read the tension in his body now, however subtle.

I turn on him, vicious, "The next time you decide to slit your wrists in someone else's bathroom, fucking tell them so they don't walk in on your corpse."

Jack winces.

Jeff just blinks. He sits forward, relief painted all over his face like blood. "That's what you were mad about?"

"Well you try—" I bite my own tongue before I say something I regret. Instead I wrinkle my nose, "Ever seen a waterlogged corpse?" of course he has, "It's disgusting."

Jeff drops his head into his hands, "I thought it was something much worse than that."

"Just leave a note on the door," I snap. That's what Jack does. It's usually to the effect of, "I hung myself in this room. If you hear banging, please come in and help me down."

He just sighs.

"That went better than expected," Slender says so only I can hear.

I smile slightly, and allow the wall in my mind to burst inwards and the memories to pour into my mind. They flood in, and I feel everything. Joy, pain, fear, comfort, blood, the chill of the dead, the heat of the hyper-alive, the thick fur of a dog (Smile, my memory says). I remember being ripped apart, put back together, being held, being shaken, burned and cuddled, slashed and bandaged. I remember doing the slashing. Mostly, I remember people: Slender, Jack, Jeff, Ana, Dylan, someone named Almes, Raun, Rabbit, Mitch, Sally, Lacy, on and on and on.

I sit down with a bump and put my head on my knees. I force myself to breath slow and even.

I remember being sprawled in an alley somewhere, someone leaning over me. My mind tries to assert that I was injected against my will, that I was forced to take the substance, but that's not right. I took the needle, and I pressed it against my own skin. It's what I was after. That was what I wanted, except I thought that the needle held a cocktail of drugs so powerful I might be happy for an entire day. How wonderful would that be? It hadn't, of course, but I had taken the needle in my own hands.

The flow of memories slows to a trickle, dries up all together. Except now I feel that my mind is at the top of a very high mountain, and the only way down is back through the memories, back to the present moment. I reach out for Slender, but he's too far away, too distant to reach me. So I pause for what seems like a second, but is probably far less, then let myself fall back down. It's slower this time. This time, I get my answers.

I feel my imposed personality shatter, the person who has being driving my body for the past eleven months absorb back into who I really am. Flashes of the real me have shown through, but not enough to do me justice.

That isn't the answer I'm looking for: those are much simpler. They answer the question "Why do they care about me?" Because I'm viewing my life from the point of view of an observer, I can find the answers among my own memories.

Jeff cares about me for a very simple reason: I didn't scream when I first saw him, didn't try to fix him when I learned about him. He might as well be my brother.

Jack is slightly more complicated. He doesn't want not to be judged. On the contrary: he wants to be fixed. He cares about me because I once sat, crying in his arms, sawing the razor blade back and forth against the radius of his left arm. While I was there, he ceased to be a witness to the concentration camps and the torturing. All he was when I was dying was someone comforting a child.

For Ben, I'm a playmate. I can match him in any game, though I doubt he ever plays with all of his attention. For Sally and Lacy, I'm the big sister they never had. For Smile, I'm a curiosity, I think.

As for Slender… as I watch the memories go by again, I feel a sinking in my chest. Slender's attitude toward me has always been in flux, and now I separate it into four distinct stages. First, immediately, I was a friend, a care-giver, someone to trust and to confide in. Then I was something broken that had to be pieced back together; he performed the task meticulously because I was precious and dear to his heart.

When I was whole again, healed by whatever miracle substance Jack keeps hidden in his bag, and when the mental scars were almost as faded as the physical ones, I became that friend again. Except this time, I was different. Slender is approximately 18 years of age, physiologically. There is no doubt in my mind, that he felt some sort of sexual attraction during that time. I'm not surprised at all. What surprises me is that he was able to control it. He watched me go from a stupid, naïve 15 year old to a 17 year old who knew much too much about the world, and in that time he bonded to me so deeply that I don't think he'll ever be free of my influence.

Then I disappeared, almost a year ago, and I became something unattainable. A ghost, a memory, someone to be longed after and mourned. And, somewhere along the line, I realize, he—

"I told you to focus on me," Slender scolds. He seems to be physically lifting me up, out of the pile of memories, though I know it's only his mind. The memories flow away, back down into my mind.

"You did," I respond. I sense the way he knows that I'm back, the real me. He opens his mind, that same trust I felt through the memories flows into me, and the familiarity blooms into an ache in my chest. I suddenly feel the urge to cry with relief, but I force it down. Later. In private.

There's the briefest of pauses, then he asks, "Are you mad at me?"

I don't need to ask about what. Last night was the first time he'd ever been in such close proximity to my body, barring one occasion that didn't really count because it was what felt like absolute zero outside. It's a body that holds a mind that he craved for nearly a year, thought about every day while another woman tortured him subtly. Of course he jumped at the opportunity.

"No," I say, "No, I'm not mad. It was…nice. I liked it." I'm not lying.

I feel an immense relief from him, the easing of a sharp fear. I'm marveling at the web of memories this contact pulls up. Hundreds of moments captured in time, all of them good. He's worked hard to have the relationship he wants with me, overcome a lot of negative associations. This is why I trust him so implicitly.

"Lea?" Kaylee says, snapping back to the physical world.

"I wouldn't touch her," Jack warns.

I take a single long breath and unfold myself. I blink against the light, take a cursory glance at the comfortable forms of the monsters, all except Hobo-Heart who looks like he might throw up, and the tense shapes of the humans. All seems normal.

I look down at myself, and find that I'm the anomaly.

"What am I wearing?" I mutter to myself, and to Slender. The shirt it too low-cut, too revealing, and the bra is a flimsy thing, completely useless for combat. The pants are the only bit I can keep.

I get to my feet, unsteady because the last time I used this body, it was not nearly as tall or as curvy as it is now. I bounce from foot to foot a couple times, testing my balance and discovering exactly how useless this bra is. Then I turn on my heel and walk up the stairs to my room.

Before I even think about my old clothes, Slender interrupts me, "I don't think anything from before will fit you."

I examine the thought, turn it over in my head, but there isn't even a hint of physical attraction in his mind. He's simply referring to the fact that I'm several inches taller than I once was. I acknowledge him, and set to digging through my current clothing to find a suitable shirt.

"Where're my knives?" I ask Slender.

"Base." He barely pays any attention to the question, and I snuggle into his mind. I don't tickle, because I know he doesn't like it. I feel the pressure returned a moment later.

I detach to focus, and step into the locker room. It's quiet and dusty. Most of the lockers are hanging open. I pop mine open, noting the missing sketches and lack of chocolate with a frown, and take my mask and knives. Nothing seems disturbed except for the Slender saw. I take my extra coat as an afterthought, then slam the door. The next second, I'm in the back yard of Minerva's house.

I open the sliding door and step inside. I feel much better now that I'm back in clothing that suits my work. I pick up my tennis shoes and go to the table. Kaylee is very confused, looking at the stairs, then at me.

I look at Mitch, "What kind of timeline do we have?"

"We don't. As far as they're concerned, we can stay in that old base until the sun explodes."

Which isn't actually going to happen, but I don't bother saying that. Instead, I assume that we will be following the Proxies across the country, because we'll have to.

"We should probably go get the bitch," I say, then catch myself. "You really hate her," I say to Slender.

"Yes," he replies.

I favor him with a quick smile, and I feel the glow of the return affection.

I finish tying my shoes and pick up my knives. They haven't been used since I left, but I partly unsheathe the stiletto anyway, check that it's sharp with the ball of my thumb. A single drop of blood rolls down my hand.

"You won't like her," Mitch says, continuing the conversation where I left it with him.

"I already don't," I admit, get to my feet. I'm shaky. I need to kill something, but I can't now. I need to wait.

I look up at Hobo-Heart. He's staring at me, those luminous blue eyes wide with a fear he can't understand. Poor kid.

"Tell me if you need something," I say to him, "or if Jeff leaves you by yourself again."

The Killer mutters something about being sorry, which in itself is unusual. Jack stays quiet. They've all been pretty quiet. I sigh, knowing what's wrong already.

I look back at Kaylee. She's frozen in place.

"Hello," I say, "I'm Proxy-Girl. You're late for work."

She looks at the clock, "You're right. I'll be back later." He hustles out the door.

I give it a minute, until I hear the car pull out of the driveway, then I turn and grab a pad of paper. I scribble a list onto it, then rip off the sheet, fold it, and hand it to Mitch. "This is what we need. You can find everything at the Safeway down the street." I look at Ana, "Take her with you."

Mitch nods, and pulls Ana after him gently as he leaves. He slaps a syringe into my palm as they go by. I put into my jacket pocket.

That done, I step to the carpeted half of the room and hold out my arms to the three men. I tilt my head expectantly.

Jack grabs me and lifts me off the ground slightly. He spins me in a slow circle, holding me tight against his chest. For me part, I wrap my arms around his neck and laugh. I missed this. I missed this so much.

Jack sets me back on my feet and just rests his head on top of mine. I nearly flinch when I feel Jeff wrap his arms around me too. There's fire on one side of me, and ice on the other. I halfway disentangle myself from Jack, and put an arm around Jeff too.

"You know I'm not going to hurt you," I say to Jeff, "Not ever, okay?" He nods, just a little, his face against my shoulder. I don't say anything to Jack. I don't have to; he already knows.

Finally, Jeff raises his head from my shoulder. I feel something pass between them, just over my head. Maybe just a glance, but it has some unknown meaning in it. They both step away.

Hobo-Heart is on his feet, and as they step back he steps forward. It seems like he's expecting the same treatment. I stop him, raising a hand.

"No," I say, "I can't trust you yet."

I watch the hope die in his eyes, but I can't help it. I trust the other two. I even trust the clown. I can't trust Hobo. He doesn't know how things work yet.

Speaking of the clown, I direct my gaze up to his shadowed corner of the room. "Hello, Laughing Jack. Nice to finally meet you."

I get no response, but judging by the way Jack's body tenses up, that's a good thing.

I direct my attention back to Jeff. 'Where did you get the idea that I'd stop caring when I remembered?"

He shrugs, looking sheepish. "I don't know. It just made sense."

"It makes no sense," but I let the subject drop.

Only now do I go to Slender. I hop up onto the arm of his chair, sitting back against him. He puts one arm around me and, even before I take out the syringe, offers the other one, palm-up.

"I can't tell you how much I missed you," I say to him. I can't translate the ache in my chest into a thought that makes any kind of sense.

He only balls his hand into a fist, then opens it again. "Hurry up and just take it."

So I uncap the needle and push up his sleeve. I find the scar, and slip the metal into his skin. He doesn't even flinch as I pull up the plunger, filling the tube with red blood.

I remove the needle from his arm with a fluid motion and cap it again.

"Thank you," I say to Slender.

"Better you than someone else," is his only reply.

I lean in and kiss his temple. He relaxes a little, but that's all.

"Okay," I say aloud, "I think that's everything."

Rabbit barks at me from under the kitchen table.

"Woof," I reply sarcastically.

He thumps his table, rather enjoying the game of play-acting.

Jeff stands up with a sigh, "I need to move. The population here is too low."

I nod, "You know where the base is? It's empty now except for my team."

He nods, not missing what I'm asking him to do. Then he smirks, "Try not to stab anyone."

"No promises." It's been almost a year. I'm practically vibrating with pent-up bloodlust.

He holds out a hand, and I press my palm to his without hesitation. Neither of us say a word.

Jeff makes a signal to Hobo-Heart, and the Gemberling follows him out the door, still sulking because I didn't hug him.

Jack waits until they're gone, then pulls off his glasses and looks at me with tar-black eyes. I smirk at him, "So, what do you want to talk about until they get back from the store?"

"Tell me about this base."


	64. Chapter 64: Lea

[33] Bonds

8 June, 3:00 pm

64\. Lea

Jack is very curious about base, and it's only after the topic has been thoroughly exhausted that I realize I've never mentioned it to him before today. I give it some thought, but decide that it can't do any harm.

By the time we've officially run out of topics of conversation, the High School is already out, and I'm counting down the minutes until Minerva gets home. Jack is resting with his eyes closed, his head in my lap like a block of ice. I'm brushing one hand idly through his feathery hair, thinking about the way I flinched away from him yesterday and feeling very guilty.

At the edge of my mind, I can feel Slender's mind, clear and bright. He's holding tight to me, unwilling to let me out of his metaphorical sight. He had to leave though, to do what he always does when he's not around me. It shouldn't take him that long. He doesn't have that many targets to stalk.

"Lea," Jack says, waking me from my reverie.

I hum to show I'm listening.

"You know I try not to let my… upbringing affect my morality, right?"

"I know," I say, though I also know he's slipped in that respect in the past.

"Good," he replies. I wait for him to say something else, but before he can, Taylor slams open the front door. This worries me slightly because I know that something is bothering Jack.

"There you are," Taylor exclaims.

Jack rolls onto his stomach and turns his head away from the girl

I sigh and remove my hand from his head. That kind of idle intimacy won't be well received by Taylor. Even resting like this is pushing it. I wonder how she'd react if she knew I'd once sat in his lap, crying while he rocked me back and forth. Or that, for Slender, that had been an almost nightly ritual for a year and a half.

"Hi," I say lamely.

"Where the hell have you been all day?" She asks.

"Mostly right here." I glance down at Jack meaningfully, trying to indicate that I have certain responsibilities now. She doesn't notice.

"Why? Finals are right around the corner."

"I've got a GED," I say tiredly, "I was wasting my time."

That stops her, "How did you get a GED?" That's right: everyone around here is under the impression that I'm a C student.

I deliberately put my hands over Jack's ears, though it won't make a bit of difference. "The human brain compartmentalizes information using a complex system of organization that humans aren't even close to understanding. I mean besides the fact that the temporal lobes process hearing, the occipital process sight, and so on. Higher brain functions, mathematics, language, artistic ability, that kind of thing, is pretty difficult to pinpoint from a biological perspective. From an idealistic view, it's not difficult at all: you just kind of wave in the direction of the soul and move on.

"That's all with one brain, not two, of course, so I'm more complicated than that. On top of that, most of my knowledge isn't self-learned, there's no muscle memory of it, no situational context to how I learned it, so to access it I need to be able to slip out of my own body, something that I couldn't do with that damned ring on my finger—"

Taylor has put her own hands over her ears, and is looking mildly pained.

I smile apologetically, and gesture for her to remove them. "The point is, I wasn't functioning anywhere near my actual capabilities while I was here, mentally or physically."

Jack is looking up at me again, my hands still over his ears, looking like he just remembered that I had a brain at all. I don't blame him for forgetting: until this morning I didn't have one.

"Ow," Taylor says with some feeling, "that was unexpected."

I laugh, but there's no humor in it. My fingers are itching for my knives, but I content myself with knotting my hands together. "I don't like mixing these two lifestyles," I say aloud.

"You don't have to stick around," Jack responds.

"I'm making sure no one gets arrested," I say, which is true. And if I'm not here, whose shoulder is he going to cry on?

"And it's appreciated," He replies, this time quietly enough that Taylor can't hear him. That's good, because every time he speaks, I can see little shivers going through the girl.

Rabbit thumps his tail from under the kitchen table. I stick my tongue out at him.

I direct my attention back to Taylor, "You should walk away right now."

"Like hell I will," She says.

"That's…that's kind of the point."

Jack laughs through his nose, and one of my hands goes automatically to his back.

Taylor gets distracted by the movement. "Okay, here's a simple question: can you see?"

Jack turns his head to look at her, then sits up. "Of course I can see."

"But your name is Eyeless Jack."

"And Jeff has no eyelids," I say, "yet he somehow manages to blink."

"I have eyes," Jack says. He settles against me again, except this time pulling me around so that I'm leaning into his chest. I forgot how much I like having people looking to me for comfort.

I feel a shift in Slender's mind, and I detangle myself from Jack. I get to my feet, move Taylor back to the table and pull out a chair for her, then retrace my steps and sit on the arm of the chair and just wait.

"What?" Taylor asks, about 30 seconds too late.

Slender flickers into existence in the chair beside me. He greets me wordlessly, as is his habit, with a mental touch. I reach out one hand to him, asking to be held.

As anticipated, Taylor screams. Slender reacts by scooping me up and holding me against his chest, his entire body tensing for a microsecond, and the tentacles lashing the air around him. The next moment he calms down, and I touch the hand that's on my shoulder. His grip relaxes. He puts me back down.

Taylor's eyes are still wide, but Rabbit is up and growling at her, bristling, and her mind has prioritized this over Slender.

"Rabbit," I say, my voice not even sharp. He lays down immediately, still watching Taylor. He's taking this acting a bit too far.

"Taylor," I say, "don't scream."

She jerks her head up to look at me. "That," she says, "is Slenderman."

I feel Slender's mind expand to include her in his voice. "A slenderman," he corrects, and she jumps, "like you're a human, not the Human."

Taylor makes that same squeaking noise Kaylee did.

I cock my head towards slender slightly, listening to his thoughts. There's nothing there to suggest that he's uncomfortable with the situation beyond the common nervousness from being exposed to humans besides me.

It's then that the front door opens and everyone else comes in. I feel Slender tense because they're making a lot of noise and he's not thrilled about it. He flickers out of existence as abruptly as he did into it.

I sigh, and move back towards Jack. He's tense too, I can tell.

I reverse directions quickly, getting myself as far away from Jack as I can. Dr. Mann has just walked through the door, and I know how Jack responds to doctors. He's dressed in normal clothing, thank god, so it might not be that bad.

"Ah, Lea," Dr. Mann says, flashing a brilliant smile that makes me nervous.

"Go on boys," I say, "and Janey, go play with your friend."

In nearly a year of me being present, babysitting, giving orders, they have never obeyed me without question. There must be something in my eyes that clues them in to how serious I am, because they move off, head down.

Dr. Mann beckons me over to him. "So, I've been thinking," he says, in a low voice, "the way that your body has symbiotically accommodated the individual mitochondria is pretty fascinating, and it's obvious that there are no negative side-effects. In fact, you seem more energetic and active than most people your age. We could market this like a dieting pill, you know something like, 'twice the energy, half the food.' I mean, it would take a while for testing, and we'd have to jump through some hoops, but we could get wealthy on this pretty fast. I've done the research."

I pause, allowing myself to absorb this information. Then I smile, "I never thought you were the greedy type."

While he's trying to think of a response, I turn around. Jack is gone. He's removed himself from the situation. I wince slightly.

"I'm watching him," Slender says. I give his mind a grateful bump.

"It's an idea," I say to Dr. Mann, "but you'd have to go through the people in charge. Talk to Mitch. He's better at the politics than I am." I don't mention that giving people dieting pills full of the stuff that I've got in me is a very good way to commit slow, painful genocide.

Mitch pops his head over the banister on the second floor landing. Who knows what he's been doing up there for the past couple hours. His mask is hanging loosely around his neck. "I heard my name," he says. He notices Dr. Mann, and his face darkens, "You're going to make me deal with something weird, aren't you?"

"It's a political thing," I say.

He vanishes without a word.

I sigh, "Never mind."

Dr. Mann has finally collected his thoughts. "You've remembered," he says, and leaves it at that.

I nod once, almost imperceptibly.

"Where are Jeff and Hobo-Heart?" Minerva asks.

"Moved on," I say, "Jeff needs a higher population density. They'll turn up again eventually."

"They aren't dating, are they?" Minerva follows up.

I feel a stab of jealousy towards the two men, and am appalled with myself.

"That's new," Slender teases me, but then he touches my mind again, soothingly.

"No," I say aloud, "they're just…" I try to remember what Jack calls it, then give up. "Jeff is just showing Hobo-Heart how things work." That will have to do.

"They're Paired," Jack supplies from the back door.

My shoulders tense. I can feel the dislike rolling off him.

"I didn't think he was the teaching type," Minerva says.

"He doesn't have a choice," Jack says, "we all have to do it eventually. It's a biological thing. You can't smell the pheromones the kid is giving off."

"That is interesting," Dr. Mann says.

I move away, putting the table between myself and Jack. Jack being nervous around Ana is entirely different than Jack being triggered by a doctor, especially one whose hobbies aren't so kosher. Just so long as no one mentions blood tests, it should be fine.

"Just let me know if you need another favor,' Dr. Mann says, looking meaningfully towards Jack.

Except Jack isn't there anymore. I feel ice-cold fingers close around my upper arm. The grip is so tight that I know I'm going to bruise.

He switches languages, knowing that German is something that Slender understands, and that by extension I understand it too. "What did you do?"

I have to wait for Slender's mind to translate, and then for my own reply to be translated, but the delay comes to no more than half a second. He doesn't have the vocabulary I need, so it's back to English, "I got a blood test, checking for STDs."

"And?"

This one I can do in German, "I got curious about something and checked Jeff too." This is just asking for my neck to be snapped, and I know it.

Jack's grip tightens. I feel him shaking with rage or fear or something much worse.

"Mitch!" I yell.

He appears again, takes one look at what's happening, and scrambles down the stairs.

"Get Richard out of here," I say between gritted teeth.

Mitch scrambles down the stairs, "come on, Dick, let's get you away from the people who're likely to eat you alive."

He places a hand on Dr. Mann's back and pushed him out of the front door.

Jack lets go of my arm, turns around, and slams his hand onto the counter, causing a spider web of thin cracks to spread over its surface. He pulls a jar over to cover the damage and turns away, not looking at me. He leaves the house, through the back door.

"What was that?" Taylor asks.

"A wake up call," I say, massaging my arm where Jack bruised it, "every few months I screw up and get a reminder."

"A reminder of what?"

"That if I set them off, I would die horribly and painfully before I could even scream."

I flex my upper arm and become concerned at the pain going through me when I do. Slender, concerned, pressed a question into my mind. "Did he hurt you?"

"Did I hurt him?" I ask, instead of replying.

"He'll understand once he's thought it through.

"I hope so."

I pull off my jacket and push up the sleeve of my T-shirt to look at the bruise. It's already turning purple, but when I feel around my muscle, I can't detect any changes.

"I think I'm okay," I tell Slender, "I'm going to be stiff and sore tomorrow, but that's just bruising."

The first thing that pops into his head is, oddly, "she's going to have to sleep on her other side." I choose to ignore that.

A red candy falls onto the table next to me. I pick it up and pop it in my mouth.

"Lea," taylor says, waving a hand in front of my face, "You're zoning out."

I blink, "Sorry. Got distracted."

"I was asking where the bruise came from. I'm ignoring the candy."

"It's from Jack," I say, deciding to ignore the candy too, despite that I can see Laughing Jack crouched on the ceiling above my head.

"No way he just gave you that bruise," Taylor says.

"He's stronger than he looks."

Minerva is giving me that look, the one that implies too much, and most of it is wrong.

"You think they're abusing me," I tell her, because I should just say it.

"No," She says defensively. Her eyes, which flick downward, say yes.

I shrug, "You humans have hurt me more than they ever will, trust me. They've all seen enough pain to be conscious of passing it on."

"But isn't that what most abusers have gone through, being abused?"

"For humans, I think there is a correlation. If you're going to go by the numbers, be concerned for Undesignated. Statistically, I'm the most likely one to become abusive."

Slender chuckles in my mind. He's aware that it would be noticed if either of us started showing up with odd bruises.

Jack comes back into the house. He walks over to me and takes me arm, presses practiced fingers to the bruise. After a couple seconds he nods and lets go. "You shouldn't have brought Jeff into it," he says, and leaves it at that.

"I know," I say, "but it wasn't really me doing it."

He nods, acknowledging the personality split between me with memories and me without. He sits down next to me and looks up at the two teenagers.

"I told you he'd understand," slender tells me.

"Yes you did," I respond, and turn all of my attention to the humans in the room.


	65. Chapter 65: Slender

**AN:** When I started typing this up, I was like, "I'll just change a couple things." Now it's three times longer, has nothing of the original plot except the barest traces, and probably contains some typos.

Oh, and I'm going to upload another chapter tomorrow.

* * *

[34] Obsessions

8 June, 10:30 PM

65\. Slender

Lea has packed up everything she wants to take back to base. It isn't much, only a couple sets of clothing and a book or two. It's good to know that she's coming back with us. Part of me was irrationally convinced that she would want to stay here.

She insists, again, that I take the bed, even though she knows that there are other places I could sleep. She's worried about me. Lea is nearly always worried about me in one way or another, but right now she's worried about my health. She got me to eat a little more, even though we both know that if I eat too much I won't be able to do anything for at least a day. I even drank a little water to reassure her, something that I rarely do because it stirs survivalist animal-like impulses. Now, she's insuring that I'll sleep. Lea with her memories back, my Lea, knows how to do that.

So I'm laying with my head in her lap, trying not to fall asleep. Lea's not making it easy. She's got one hand on the back of my neck, rubbing in slow circles, applying steady pressure. The other hand is holding up a book.

I'm just giving in when Lea's fingers slip under my collar, feeling for the scar hidden there. Instead, she finds the thin chain of the necklace and moves the pendant resting in the hollow between my collarbones. Electricity spikes through me, driving away all sleepiness.

Lea leans forward over me. She's frowning. "Are you wearing jewelry?"

I sit up and, by reflex, reach out to put an arm around her. She's still feeling the chill from Jack's body, and I can't help feeling a jealous delight at how she relaxes into me. It's something that she never does when Jack is the one she's touching.

"It's your birthday present," I say. I raise my hands and fumble with the tiny clasp.

"My birthday isn't for another month."

"Last year's."

"Oh," she says, then after a moment, "that must have been awful."

"It actually helped a little," I manage to open the clasp and pull the necklace from around my neck. I hold it out to her.

Lea looks at the necklace, and carefully sets her book aside. Now I know I have her attention. She takes it from my hand, and twin ribbons of silver slip from between her fingers as she looks at the pendant.

Her brow creases, "I don't wear this type for thing."

"I know."

"And this looks really expensive."

"It was." Or, at least, the price tag said it was. She doesn't really think I paid anything for it besides a bit of time.

She turns the star over in her hand, brings it closer to her eyes. "What gemstone is this?"

"Paraiba Tourmaline." She flinches a bit, like she wasn't expecting me to know the answer, so I add, "it's almost the same color as your eyes."

Lea goes quiet. She gathers the chain up into her hand, and mutely offers it to me in her cupped palm.

"It's yours," I say helplessly. It hurts more than it should, this silent rejection. She knows it does too, but she's still doing it. That means she either doesn't care, or it too concerned with her own response to consider mine.

It's the second option. I see a flicker of understanding in her eyes, and she closes her fingers over the necklace. I find myself wondering if she'll ever wear it, if she'll be able to bring herself too, or if she's simply too disturbed to ever consider it.

"Thank you," Lea says, "it's beautiful." Then, because it's expected of her in some strange human way, she stretches up and kisses my cheek. Her mouth is soft and warm against my skin.

I don't reply. I don't need to, and I'm too sad to. I know I messed that up. It doesn't look like a mistake now, but in a week or two, that necklace will be gone and I'll never see it again.

I lay back down, and Lea shifts back to her place so I can rest my head in her lap again. I resist the urge to use a pillow instead. She doesn't rest her hand on my neck again. Maybe she never will.

Despite all that, I fall asleep there.

And wake up less than a half hour later with Lea tense and shaking slightly, one of her hands squeezing my arm so tight it's causing pain.

"Do not move," she says, and as an afterthought, "it's going to be okay."

I let my body stay perfectly still and turn my attention to the room around us. I tune into Lea's senses.

"—Wanted to talk to you," A voice is saying. It belongs to someone I don't know. He's young, about Lea's age, with sandy blond hair and brown eyes. He's also carrying a handgun of the variety that holds 10 bullets to a magazine and has only moderate recoil.

Neil, I realize. I slip my hand into Lea's, and one that's gripping my arm, very slowly. She grabs my fingers and squeezes those instead. My head is still in her lap, so I'm in a prone position, and I don't dare move, even teleport, for Lea's sake. The gun can't kill me, but Lea is all too mortal.

Lea puts on her brave face, "Yes, that's usually done while you're holding a loaded firearm," then, in the most condescending tone I've ever heard come out of her mouth, "It is loaded, right, sweetie?"

I feel the sting of the pet name: it sounds more like a slur than a term of endearment. I'm suddenly glad she doesn't use pet names for me.

"It is," Neil says, "I made sure to bring a whole clip."

"That's good. I wouldn't want you to look like a fool."

What on earth is she doing?

There's a beat of silence. It's a very important moment, I realize, but I don't know why.

"Are you still planning on shooting me?" Lea asks the boy.

Neil falters. I know without looking that she's making eyes at him, big and blue and all innocence. Where he can't see, her hand is still gripping mine so tight I'm afraid she'll strain something.

"You bruised me up pretty good," He says, like it's the only thing he can say.

"Sorry about that, but you can't hit me."

He hit her? This is news to me. I flick back through her memories and find the relevant information. Anger flares to life inside me, but I contain it.

"I can understand that," Neil says. I see something in his face, feel the flicker of it in his mind. Lust.

Lea's hand doesn't tighten. I don't even feel her shiver. She's so used to this boy hurting her that it doesn't even elicit a response. I want to tear him apart.

Lea rests her hand on the back of my neck before I can even think about acting. "You're asleep," she tells me, "relax."

I growl so only she can hear it. I'm on the edge of real rage, the kind that makes me do stupid things.

Neil notices the movement. His obsession with Lea is so acute that until now I've gone largely unnoticed, and my shape is obscured both by the blankets, and by Lea's body—she's raised one knee to partially conceal my head. Now he doesn't know what to make of me.

"What the hell is that?" He asks.

"My past," Lea replies. She starts rubbing the back of my neck again. The only thing keeping me in check is the thought of a bullet hitting her and tearing my life apart again.

"You've remembered then?" Neil says, but Lea doesn't respond. He peers at me, "Oh my god it's alive."

"He's sleeping right now."

"Okay," Neil says slowly. He straightens up again. "Want to go somewhere? He won't miss you if he's asleep."

If I weren't awake, she wouldn't have even thought about it. She would have got up and left, if only to get him out of the house. She probably would have killed him, but at what cost?

Instead, because I'm awake, she pauses. "I shouldn't."

"But, babe, you look so good right now. We could go get pizza."

"Lea," I say, more pleading than warning. It's all I can think to do.

"Okay," she says, and lifts my head out of her lap. She sets it down beside her on a pillow, but it might as well have been a rock. Agony shoots through my chest, and I fumble for her without thinking, mind and body reaching out.

Lea moves my hands aside gently, as if it's just a twitch in my sleep. Her mind, though, allows itself to be embraced. To me, it feels as if I'm actually holding her against me. She pushes information across, and I analyze it without thinking. It's wordless and instinctive, but she has a plan. I don't play a part in it, but it's okay. She can take care of herself, and I'm right here if she needs me. She will need me for this.

This all takes a second and a half, the time it takes for her to stand up. She brushes fingers through her dark hair as if tidying it. She gives Neil one of her sweetest smiles, "Alright, let's go."

She steps past him, almost flirtatious in her movements, brushing past his arm so that they touch. Neil responds, but he's still looking at me.

"Why were you sitting like that?" He asks suddenly.

Lea is already bending to open the trap door, and she pulls it open when she looks up. "Like what?"

"With his head in your lap like that."

Lea smiles. This is her real plan, I think. It's a good one. "I've known him for years. He's my favorite person on the planet. We do that kind of thing all the time."

I'd respond, but I'm too busy preparing to act.

I can almost hear Neil thinking, the wheels turning in his mind. I'm her favorite person. I'm getting all the affection.

"And where did you get that necklace?" He asks.

Lea's hand goes to her throat reflexively, and it takes her a moment so find the words. "From him. It was a present."

Neil needs to eliminate the competition. He needs to be the only person who Lea cares about. And he's got a gun. He knows how to use it, has been itching to use it since he loaded it.

He raises the gun in one fluid motion, aiming at my head, already halfway squeezing the trigger as the aiming ends. Lea, who's been moving up behind him, forces a hand around his back and under his elbow, lifting his arm up past the point where he meant for it to stop. Her other arm snakes around his neck, the short dagger gleaming in her hand as her muscles tense.

Neil pulls the trigger of the gun, but the gun only clicks. He forgot to chamber a bullet before he came in. I flicker out of the bed and into the space in front of the window. I don't try to help. Lea's done harder things than disable one teenage boy.

But that was when Lea was fit and strong, and now she's lost much of her muscle mass to sedentary desks at school and standing behind a counter at work. When Neil raises a hand to pull her arm away, he peels it off easily.

Lea bounces into the air, tries to her legs around his waist, add her body wait to what he's already supporting, but it's no good. Neil is twisting around, and he drives a shoulder into her chest, reversing her momentum and badly bruising her sternum. Lea lands on the floor, on her back, and despite all her gymnastic flexibility and remarkable speed, she's never going to get up in time to stop Neil shooting her point-blank.

I flicker at the same time Lea does. Luckily, we're not trying to occupy the same space. She moves two feet to the left, to throw off his aim. I get behind the boy, tentacles already wrapping around his arms and torso.

The gun goes off again, and a fine mist of blood marks it path through the air into the floor beside Lea.

Neil tries to scream, but his voice is muffled by the tentacles around his mouth. He tries to point the gun at me, his finger already squeezing the trigger. I break his wrist, and the third bullet goes wild and shatters the window.

Lea dives across the room and slams the trap door, ensuring no one interrupts. She leaves a thin trail of blood behind her. She stays on the ground, panting and not looking at me.

"Where'd it hit you?" I ask, letting Neil hear the words.

"Leg," she replies, touching her left thigh. Her fingers come away stained red. "It's just a graze. I'll be fine."

I direct my attention back to the teenage boy in my grip. He's struggling, eyes wild and angry. Now that I'm really looking at him, I can diagnose the condition. Psychopathy in its most acute form and fed by an abusive childhood, if I had to judge.

"Are you trying to hurt Lea?" I ask him.

Neil shakes his head no frantically, then starts nodding as I threaten to pop his shoulder from its socket.

"Slend?" Lea says. I don't hear any fear in her voice. She's standing now, and blood is staining her jeans from the shallow cut.

I seriously consider inserting a tentacle into Neil's lungs and tearing them to shreds.

"Slend," Lea tugs at my sleeve. It's a childish gesture, but it gets me to look at her. I see the sparkle of the blue star around her neck. It's shaken free of her shirt in the fight.

I scoop Lea off the floor with my single free tentacle, transfer her to my arms. I hold her sitting upright so she can move around a little. I know she's comfortable, feels safe in this position, but Lea lays her head against me anyway. She loops her hands around the back of my neck as if she's afraid to fall. I can feel her shaking.

"What is it?" I ask softly, aware that the teenage boy is seething with envy now, as well as anger, pain, and fear. That's interesting.

To my horror, Lea buries her face in my shirt. She doesn't cry, but I feel three spasmodic shudders, each one only just short of a sob. "Why did I have to get saddled with someone as kind to me as you are?" She says, so only I can hear it, "Why couldn't it be someone who hurt me, or someone who didn't care? Why did it have to be Kindness that the world gave back to me?"

I heft Lea higher and hush her, stroking her hair with a hand I manage to balance her without. "I could ask you the same question," I say finally.

Lea laughs against me, then straightens up in my arms. She gives Neil a look I know is pure hatred, finally undisguised.

"What are you going to do to him?" She asks aloud.

"Kill him," I say, "do you want to do it instead?"

She shakes her head, "I don't want to touch him."

I flip Neil upside down and let two very thin tentacles puncture the skin just under his armpits. He groans and struggles as I destroy the lymph nodes. This is purely for the sake of it: I'm not going to let him die by immunodeficiency.

"Don't make too much of a mess in here," Lea says, then a moment later, "thank you for this."

"No problem." I couldn't keep her safe before, but now that I'm here I intend to keep anyone who might hurt her away. She'll do the same for me later.

Lea catches the thought and sighs, "I can't hurt her. You know that."

"But you can make her hate herself and you, and you can keep her away from me."

She nods, "And I will."

Neil is choking on words I won't let him speak. I don't want him to hurt us more than he already has.

I set Lea on the ground, and she retrieves the gun from where it's fallen. I can feel her anger shifting, off of me and off of Neil, and to a certain assistant observer who was supposed to keep this from happening. She steps back to watch.

I consider my options, turning Neil over and over in a preoccupied sort of way. Tear out his heart, puncture his lungs, or rupture intestines. Choices, choices. In the end, I decide that the death should at least sort of look like an accident.

I break his neck. I know that the crack of snapping vertebrae can be heard throughout the entire house. Lea flushes a color that probably isn't supposed to be in the range of human facial expression. I read it as extreme pleasure.

I take the boy's body back to his apartment, and toss it down the stairwell. The blood hasn't settles yet, and he'll bruise just the way someone is supposed to when they fall down a flight of stairs. As for the puncture marks, let the police make of them what they will.

It only takes a few seconds, but when I get back Lea is downstairs.

"Mitch," she says, "where are you?"

"Over here," Mitch says. His voice is very small. He has his mask on.

Lea strides over to him and rips it off. She throws it aside and levels the gun at a forehead pale and glistening with sweat.

"Give me one good reason not to pull the trigger."

"You're not allowed to," He says.

"You're my underling. I can do whatever I want to you."

"You'd… You'd miss me."

She moves her finger into the trigger guard.

His eyes spark with a sudden idea, "Jack would be mad at you,"

"Jack isn't here right now." It's true. He slipped out before any of this happened. Ana went soon after.

There's a long moment of silence.

"If you really meant to hurt me, you'd use a knife," Mitch says.

"Tell me why you let the unstable teenager holding a gun into the house, Mitch."

He doesn't respond.

Lea leans in slightly so only he'll be able to hear, "tell me why you let the psychopath who has been borderline abusing and raping me into the house, Mitch."

He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. "I fell asleep," he says finally, "I didn't see him come in."

Lea sighs and flicks the safety on the gun back on.

Mitch looks like he's about to pass out from relief.

Lea puts a hand, still coated with her own blood, on his head. She tilts it up so that he has to look at her. "Let something like this happen again, and I will kill you. Guard duty is guard duty."

"Yes ma'am," he says emphatically.

Lea releases him, "the danger has passed. Try to get some sleep again." She turns, sets the gun on the table, and climbs back up the stairs into the room.

Mitch dissolves into a shaking that would look like a seizure, if he weren't sitting upright.

Lea comes into the room, looks at the bullet hole in the floor and the broken window, then shrugs.

"I'm going to clean myself up," she says to me, "sleep. I'll be right back."

I do as she says and settle myself in for the night. I'm still tired, but the rush of fighting and death hasn't cleared my system yet. It will take a few minutes before I can fall asleep.

Three minutes later, Lea comes out of the bathroom, no longer bleeding and dressed in what passes for pajamas with her. She takes a few of the extra blankets from the end of the bed and spreads them on the floor, two of the thickest to make a pad, and one for a cover. She moves the extra pillow onto the ground with them.

I didn't really expect her to sleep in the same bed as me again, so I don't feel disappointment. At least, not much.

Lea turns off the light in the room and gets into her makeshift bed without saying goodnight. I relax and listen to her rolling from side to side, trying to get comfortable on the floor.

"We could switch," I say, because it sounds like she just can't find a position she can sleep in.

She hushes me, "I have to make it look like I actually slept here." She kicks at the blankets, then stretches out so that her feet extend past the top blanket. Then she ceases moving for a moment.

"What?" I ask.

Lea throws back and top blanket, then stands up and flicks it back into place without much thought. She leaves the pillow where it is, and walks over to me. "Scoot over."

I move as far back as I can, disbelief growing in me.

Sure enough, Lea pulls back the blanket and slips into the bed next to me. She stays on her back, because of the bruising on her arm and chest, but I can't help myself. I pull her up so that her head is on my shoulder.

She smiles, "Goodnight, my curse of Kindness."

"Goodnight," I say, but can't think of anything clever to call her, "Lea."

She wraps her bruised arm around her own stomach to keep pressure off it and closes her eyes. We won't speak again until morning, I realize.

I could get used to this. I could get very accustomed to sleeping with Lea so close to me.


	66. Chapter 66: ?

**AN:** Last one for a little while guys. I'm going on a college-tour trip all over the place. Wish me luck.

* * *

[34] Obsessions

8 June, 1:00 AM

66\. ?

Ana is lying on her side in the hotel bed, waiting for the euphoria to wear off a little. It's been a long time since she felt like this. That was good, better than good. If some of the boyfriends she's had in her life were that adept at sex, she might have settled down already.

Behind her, Jack's body is warm. Normal human temperature, and not just because he's been lying in bed for a while, which he has. He's giving off body heat. In her dazzled state, Ana can't come up with a reasonable explanation. In his case, it appears the phrase "hot and bothered" is to be taken literally. More literally than normal, at least.

He's perfectly still except for his breathing, and he's humming. It's barely audible, and it's not exactly soothing, pitched so low at first she thinks it might be a television or a microwave from the next room over.

Ana rolls over to face him, trying to close the inch of space between them. She turns her chin up so she can look at his face. His eyes are covered with bandages just starting to show black stains. She hasn't noticed before, but his nose is very thin and his lips are just short of full.

Looking at his mouth starts her thinking. There hadn't been any kissing from him, none at all. It makes a kind of sense, but she can't help but be offended by it.

Jack finally reacts. "What is it?" he says, not quite looking at her.

Ana shakes her head, "nothing." She snuggles into him, feeling scars against her skin. Raised, sunken, rough and smooth, all kinds of injuries that must have been sustained by a living body. Ana slips one leg around his, knotting them together.

Very gently, he disentangles himself and scoots away from her. Not far, just far enough to reiterate: he does not like being touched like this.

Ana stays quiet for a few seconds, then says, "Are you thinking about Lea?"

"Yes," It's a lie, but she doesn't know that. All Ana knows is that Lea gets favoritism; therefore she's a rival, an obstacle to Ana on her way up the pecking order.

The woman scowls, "Having fantasies?"

Jack starts, genuinely surprised. "No," he says, "that girl isn't going to sleep with anyone anytime soon."

"Then what?"

The truth is that it's not Lea that Jack is thinking about. It's Jeff. Despite himself, Jack finds that he craves his presence for a couple days whenever they part company. It used to be a protective thing, but now it's different. It's been different for going on two years now, and Jack has been enjoying it. The major benefit is, of course, that with Jeff he can bite and not worry about repercussions. The more time they spend together, the easier it is to ignore the little voice in the back of his head telling it's _wrong, wrong, wrong _for him to do this.

"Did she tell you something?" Ana asks, pulling him back into the bed, warm and uncomfortable.

"Who?"

"Lea,"

Oh, right. The lie. "She told me she doesn't care about me at all."

"Oh," Ana says, "I'm sorry." She nuzzles up under his chin, against his chest and neck.

Jack fights back the urge to push her away. "Sleep now," he says, voice not quite commanding.

Ana nods, her eyes already closed.

Jack gives it ten minutes before he gets up.

* * *

Ana wakes up to a slow rhythmic thumping noise. She sits up in bed, pulling the sheet with her. She feels something sticky caked on her lower back, making her skin stretch unpleasantly.

She looks around the room, feeling with one hand for whatever is on her back. She doesn't remember that happening. The dried liquid is flaky and brittle under her fingers.

Jack, fully clothed, is sitting on the floor facing the wall. He's pounding his forehead against it.

"Jack?" Ana says uncertainly.

He jerks, but doesn't turn. "Oh good, you're awake."

"What are you doing?"

"Maintaining self-control."

Ana half-crawls forward, ending up sprawled on her stomach over the bed. She reaches out and rubs the back of his head. "It's okay, you're not going to do anything wrong."

He doesn't respond, suddenly tense under her hand.

Ana tries, gently, to pull him back against her. To her surprise, he yields, but he keeps his face turned away. "I trust you," she says, into his ear.

"Right," Jack says, "because I'm so trustworthy."

Ana looks down and sees his hands: coated with a thin layer of half-dried blood. Slowly it dawns on her.

Ana sits up fast. She fumbles behind her back, feels the dried liquid there. She scrapes some of it off, and when she looks at her hand, dried blood is caked beneath her fingernails. She can't get enough air into her lungs. She can't breathe.

Her hands roam over her naked torso. Finally she finds it: a neat row of stitched just above her lower back.

Ana is momentarily relieved that it's sewed up, that there isn't just a hole in her back. That would have been too awful to bear.

The reality hits her. "You took it," she says softly.

Jack doesn't move. He closes his eyes beneath the dark glasses.

"You took it…and you ate it." Ana's voice is growing in volume, "You took my kidney. Do you know what you've done?! Do you know how much you can't do without a kidney?!" And she's crying. Tears are streaming down her face and her chest is heaving.

"This is what happens," Jack whispers, "this is what always happens." Well, always minus one.

Ana raises a hand and strikes him across the back of his head, which makes her hand hurt and by extension her cry harder.

Jack listens to the sobs for a little while, then gets to his feet. "I'm going now," He says, giving her one last chance.

"Go to hell," Ana says through her panic.

Jack shrugs and shoulders his backpack. He uses the damp towel he left waiting on the bedside table to wipe the blood off his hands, revealing the two shallow cuts in his own palms. They're already half-closed.

Ana pulls on her clothes still shaking. There's a bloodstain on the sheets, a trail of droplets left where he lifted the organ out of her.

How could she have been so stupid? Did she really think that because she had seen him calm and controlled that she could trust him? God: how dumb was she, to actually sleep with him, to fall for the attractive body and nice voice that are only the shell of something else. She can hear The Inspector turning over in his grave.

She can't go back with the others now, not after this. Lea will be able to smell it on her, will know exactly what happened. For all of the girl's faults, she hasn't been as stupid as Ana has.

She can take the train back to the airport. She can get home, she's not worried about that.

Ana runs out of the hotel without checking out.

It won't be until a week later that she'll learn the truth. Jack wanted her gone, wanted her as far away from him as she could get, never wanted to be bothered again.

The cut in Ana's back was only a few centimeters deep. She has both of her kidneys.


	67. Chapter 67: Lea

**AN:** Today I discovered a most unfortunate typo that can be made with Ana's name. This is what I get for trying to be fancy with characters. Hopefully, I never actually make that mistake.

* * *

[35] When All is Over

9 June, morning

67\. Lea

I wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat and breathing hard. The nightmares are back.

I sit up fast, but I don't scream. It wasn't a screaming kind of dream. It crept and surrounded, intimidated and suggested, but it didn't scream.

Neil was in it as well as Max, the one who originally tried to rape me, and a number of faceless individuals. You can imagine the rest of it. I could actually feel the pain.

I look around, one hand straying to the arm on my lower stomach. I press it more firmly against me, letting the gentle tingling roll through me. I reach out with my other hand and stroke Slender's head. Touching him like this is calming. I want to wake him up, so he can calm me, so he can go through the steps of soothing me, but I don't. He's tired and weak, not healthy at all. If he hasn't woken up already, it's better to let him sleep.

I get up, carefully moving his arm, and go to the bathroom. I splash water into my face, dry off with a towel. I look at myself in the mirror. It's still me. Bruised and tired and a little chubbier than I was before I lost my memories, but still me.

The dream fades until it's almost entirely gone.

I return to the bedroom, step over my fake bed on the floor, and slide back into bed next to Slender. I take a moment to touch his cheek, utterly still as he is, to check for warmth. I find it and lay down beside him again.

He stirs, "Lea, is everything okay?"

"Just a nightmare. I'm okay."

"Was it bad?" He's waking up a little.

"No," I lie, "not too bad. I'll tell you about it in the morning."

He gathers me into his chest again, one arm around my waist and the other under my head. I feel that tingling again, pleasing and warm, where he touches me. It's not a new sensation. I used to have it all the time when he touched me. I suppose it's just my body's reaction to his renewed proximity.

"It's a new one," I say, but he's already asleep. I smile, reach up a hand to stroke his cheek again. I'm going to let him rest for as long as he wants. He deserves that, at least.

I wake up again a few hours later. This time it's morning, and I haul myself out of bed. I straighten the covers again, pulling them high on Slender's body. I lean over and give him a quick kiss on the head. I get dressed, then flicker out of the room and downstairs. I want to leave the trapdoor locked.

I start to find myself breakfast, thinking that I would kill for oatmeal right now and digging in the cupboards looking for any that might be lying around. Oatmeal is a comfort food for me. There's this berry patch near the house in Montana. If I get to it in early summer, there are fat red raspberries so sweet you'd swear they were candy. One of my favorite things to do when I'm up there is to eat them on top of oatmeal. Slender doesn't like berries. It's one of the few things that I don't think we'll ever agree on.

I think about popping up there, just for a couple minutes, but the birds will have gotten the easy to reach berries, and I don't feel like getting scratched up trying to reach the rest.

The back door opens, and I turn around. It's Jack, as expected. He doesn't glance up, doesn't look around, just walks over to the sofa, throws down his backpack, and lays down. He's asleep in seconds. That is not good.

I stop digging through the cupboards and go to him. I shake his shoulder, and Jack starts breathing again. He looks up at me, not happy at all by the set of his mouth.

"Are you hurt?" I ask.

I see him relax, "No. I'm okay, just tired." Which is false in every sense, but I let it slip. I sit down next to him and stroke his hair. He's asleep again almost instantly.

Gingerly, I lift one of his hands. There's blood caked around his fingernails, but no flesh underneath them. I think about Ana, about how they disappeared one after the other last night, and I understand.

I drop Jack's hand and step back. It shouldn't surprise me, I know, but I've never thought of Jack as a sexual creature before. Given my dream last night, I need to take a moment to readjust. As for the blood…I knew that something was wrong between them. I guess Jack took care of the problem.

I go back to the kitchen and close the cupboard. There's no oatmeal here. I'll content myself with cold cereal.

Minerva emerges just as I'm sitting down, and she advances like she means business. I close _Huckleberry Finn_ with a sigh. I'm beginning to think I'll never finish the book. Not that I have to, but I prefer to read it myself rather than sharing Slender's memories of it. All of his experiences for the past year are tinted with pain.

"What are you doing?" She asks.

"Eating breakfast."

"This early?"

I shrug, "I have to go soon."

"But I thought you were staying."

I shake my head, "I can't."

"Well, of course you _can_."

I open the book again, "It would hurt a lot of people who are special to me, so I can't. I'm sorry."

"When are you leaving?"

"As soon as Mitch gets here. We have a long way to drive."

"Good. You have to say goodbye at least."

I don't hide my apprehension, "I don't think it's necessary."

"Oh yes it is. I'm calling Taylor and the others. They'll be here soon."

"Uh," I think about Neil's corpse, "just Taylor. She's the only one I know at all."

"Good compromise."

I get up and wash the remainder of the cereal down the sink. My appetite is gone again. I have to wake up Slender now. There won't be a chance later.

I walk upstairs, climb the ladder, but flicker into the room itself. In here it's warm and quiet and smells like sleep. He's still on his side in the position I left him. I wonder if he even remembers waking up when I had my nightmare.

It's odd how this inhibition is gone while the others remain: I no longer feel self-conscious about sleeping in the same bed as Slender, though I'd prefer if we were separate.

He looks so peaceful, tie untucked and curled around the space where my body was. I suddenly remember him lying on the couch in the apartment.

I sit down on the bed, my legs crossed, and shake his shoulder. He shakes his head slightly, raises it a little off the pillow, then sets it back down with a sigh. He wraps sleepy arms around my waist and pulls me closer to him.

"Time to get up," I say.

"I know," he sits up, stretching languidly, and tucks his tie back into his jacket.

"We'll be back at base tonight," I say, pulling his hand off my side and idly spreading his fingers with my own. "Do you have anything in mind?"

I get his version of a sadistic grin, "What are you going to do to her?"

"Not kill her. Something worse."

"Sounds good." He pulls me close, bends to press the place where his mouth should be to the top of my head. It's the equivalent of a kiss.

I wait to feel disgust, repulsion, unease, but I don't. There's a flickers of surprise, then nothing.

"Lea," he says, "the nightmare?"

Ah, so he does remember, "You don't want to see it, not that one."

There's a long pause. It's something that I've only said once before, but he didn't believe me then. I can feel Slender thinking, working it out, what must have been what happened in that dream. He twists his hands and interlaces our fingers, "Let me know if you change your mind."

I nod, let the subject drop, "if you're going to go back to sleep, move to the apartment. I don't want you left alone here.

He grumbles, "Fine."

I start to get up, then turn and hug him on impulse. I feel arms, a little stronger than yesterday, return the embrace. We let go after a moment, unwillingly. I wonder briefly if this new connection is a good or bad thing.

I go downstairs again, aware that I still sort of smell like Slender: fresh pine, rain, and the metallic tang of blood. Taylor is here already. She looks half-frightened and half annoyed.

I ignore her for a moment and throw a blanket over Jack, more to conceal his lack of breathing than in the interest of his comfort.

"What's up?" I say to Taylor.

"'What's up?'" Slender remarks, surprised. I give him a mental shove.

"Minerva said you were leaving," Taylor crosses her arms over her chest.

"I am, as soon as Mitch gets here."

"You weren't going to say goodbye?"

My eyes flick away. I'm already guilty about what's going to happen to them. This will be one of the very few things that I ever feel bad about. "Why? There's no point in it."

An expression of hurt crosses her face.

I sigh, "We don't say goodbye, Taylor, not unless we mean it permanently. It's just what we do." I don't mention that I don't say it even then. "And I don't really deal with physical contact well, so you'll forgive the lack of a hug."

Her eyes flick to Jack like she doesn't totally believe me, so I answer her unspoken question.

"Jack has earned some trust," I say, "he's saved my life a couple times."

"Oh." Light suddenly jumps into her eyes, "I know you said to leave it alone, but if I really wanted into this crazy world of yours, what would I do?"

I open my mouth to make a joke about the Devil's Game, then close my mouth again, thinking. I turn around and grab a pad of paper from the counter. On it, I scribble an address, a date, and a phone number. "Here," I hand it to her, "take this to Dr. Mann at the hospital. Get his help to get there on time."

She nods eagerly, but I know that she's not going to thank me for this. She'll realize too late what she's asking for.

Slender bumps my mind, "I'm going to the apartment."

I smile, "Okay."

"What?" Taylor says.

"Sorry. I do that sometimes."

"No problem," her eyes are confused again.

Mitch walks into the house without knocking on the door. He doesn't bother to greet me. "Where's Ana?"

I shrug, "On a train back to Washington by now."

He glares at me.

"Jack scared her off," I explain, "he just wanted her gone."

"What did he do?" Taylor asks, curious.

"Probably made a shallow cut in her back and pretended he'd taken a kidney."

"Why?" Mitch asks.

I shrug, "Cause he needs to test people, or he wanted her gone for some reason." I stretch above my head, "We need to get moving soon."

Mitch nods, still looking at Jack's still form. "Is he coming with us?"

I nod.

"Lea," Taylor says, "has he done that to you?"

"Nope," I say, "He doesn't need to."

"Well, you can wake him up," Mitch says, and starts checking around for any supplies he may have forgotten.

I roll my eyes and walk over to Jack. I shake his shoulder, but very gently. I'm very aware of his broken ribs and wrist.

He sits up, reaches up to feel the bandages over his eyes. "Are we leaving?"

"Yes."

He starts folding the blanket without standing up, turning it into a perfect square.

Minerva comes in then, the rest of the family right on her heals. Janey looks up at me with wide eyes, "Minnie says you're leaving," she accuses.

I crouch down to Janey's level, feeling Jack's gaze on my back. "My parents are waiting for me, and they are very worried," I lie, "you'll see me soon again, I promise."

That wins her over. "Okay," she smiles.

"Be nice to Laughing Jack," I add.

"I will."

"Good girl," I sacrificed my dignity once for this creature. Was it worth it?

The twins approach hesitantly. I've never had a very close relationship with either of them. I give them both formal handshakes, which I know makes them feel important. I tell them I'll see them soon.

Jack is looking at me, and even through the bandages I know his expression is one of sympathy.

"We should get going," Mitch says. He's spinning a thin paintbrush between his fingers.

I nod and gesture for them both to go to the car. They both go ahead, and I wait behind. It's better that they don't see me do this.

I bow to Kaylee, deeply, from the waist, with my hands clasped in front of me and my head angled forward to expose the back of my neck. It's a posture that says, "I am the weakling, and I am submitting to your dominance." It's the bow I'm supposed to use for Slender, but never do.

"Thank you for sheltering me," I say, "I have no doubt that if it were not for you, I'd be much worse off."

"Uh… You're very welcome, dear," She says.

"What the hell?" Minerva mutters to herself.

I rise out of my bow and look at her, "And thank you for reintroducing me to Jeff and Laughing Jack. It might have been much messier."

"You're… You're welcome."

"I'm going now," I say, "I'll be back in a couple weeks, just to visit." I glance at Taylor meaningfully and turn away.

"Lea, honey," Kaylee interrupts, "where exactly is your home?"

I turn and blink at her, "You're going to have to clarify that."

"Where's home?" she asks again.

I sigh, "Okay. I was raised in Los Angeles, in an apartment. The place I like to be the most is a little cabin up in Montana, in the middle of nowhere. The place that I've spent the majority of my time is the old Base. I can't tell you where that it, but it's where I'm going now. Ultimately, I'm headed for the new Base near Atlanta."

She doesn't look like I've answered her question.

"Oh, you meant metaphorically," I smile, "I don't know. Not right this second. It tends to move around. The last time I was there, it was in this house. A couple days ago."

"Then, won't you feel bad about leaving?" Minerva asks.

I shake my head, "You asked the wrong question. The last time I was home, it was right here, but the next time will be somewhere else." I angle my head out the window, "That's my family out there. This was a nice place to stay, but I have to go now."

A car horn blares outside. Mitch is losing his patience.

"You are one screwed up puppy," Minerva says suddenly, like she's only just realized.

"Well," I say, "what do you expect from someone who kills people for a living? I'll be back in a couple weeks."

Before they can respond to that, I'm out the door, snatching Jack's backpack off the floor on my way out. I slide into the van feeling lighter than I have in a long time. Jack is already in the back seat, and he murmurs a thank you for his bag.

Rabbit, his human form, twists around in the front seat and grins at me. I see relief and new worry in his eyes.

"Alright," I say, "let's go home."

"Already there," Jack and Rabbit say in unison. I flash them both a smile, and reach out both hands to tousle their hair.

Jack stretches out across the seat and puts his head in my lap. I wait until he's asleep before setting a hand on his forehead protectively. It's going to be a long ride back to base, but—Slender bumps my mind—we have a lot to talk about.


	68. Chapter 68: Slender

**AN:** One more chapter, my friends. It feels good to almost be finished, doesn't it?

* * *

[35] When All is Over

9 June, 8:00 PM

68\. Slender

I'm reading, or pretending to read, when Natasha enters the room. Lea and I are going back and forth about the shared dream, half-blaming each other and trying to figure out how it happened in the first place. Neither of us is particularly proud of it.

I notice that the woman is standing oddly, as if she's nervous. I disconnect from Lea with a quick goodbye and turn my attention to Natasha.

I can already feel myself tensing up.

"There are people here," she says, "at least, I think there are. It feels like there are."

I relax a little. She's just sensing the monsters. I look back down to the book even though it's just for show. "You should go to the locker room," I say, because I should say something.

"Why?" She snaps.

I stay silent, trying to ignore her. She starts up with one of her streams of insults, and I tune it out. Until I hear the word, "rapist," and then I snap.

Tentacles squirm out into the air. They're beyond my conscious control at that point. I restrain a physical attack with some difficulty.

"Go," I say, in a tone that makes it very clear how close I am to murder.

She backs out of the room, scared.

I reconnect with Lea. She stays quiet, sensing my desire for silence, but she pushes her mind into mine. I can feel her getting mad.

Despite that, when Natasha gets to the locker room, Lea appears perfectly calm. She has her locker open, and her head is inside is at she reaches for something above her.

"Hello," Lea says, not bothering to look around.

Natasha just stares.

Lea pulls her head out of her locker. Her mask is around her neck. I feel Natasha's mind light on fire, and I almost can't help hearing her thoughts.

What Natasha is seeing is a teenage girl, slim around the torso with powerful legs and lean arms. Lea's dark hair is falling around her face, making her look strange and very pale. For the first time, through Natasha's eyes, I realize that Lea's eyes are large and her mouth a little short of full. She really does look like a porcelain doll.

"Oh my god," Natasha says, "you're Lea, aren't you?"

"Yes I am," Lea says, "And you're Natasha who ripped my picture in half and ate Sl- Undesignated's last piece of chocolate."

Silence for a moment.

"How do you know about that?" Natasha asks.

"Sl… I'm going to call him by his real name for simplicity's sake. Slender told me so. Plus, you're the only one dumb enough to go digging through my locker. That sketch was one of a kind, by the way. I'm not happy it's gone."

"You're just a kid," Natasha says, "you're barely old enough to drive."

Lea leans back into the locker, "There's a reason I'm 'proxy-girl' not 'proxy-woman.'" Then she says, mostly to herself but also to me, "that sounds like a terrible superhero."

I smile, nuzzle her mind.

"But how did _you_ get to be a personal?"

Lea shrugs, "It's his choice. He just likes me."

I respond to that one, "It's because you spend so much time looking out for me."

Lea hushes me. She finally manages to shift the knife that was hidden near the top of the locker. She puts it into the box and slams the locker closed.

"Oh, and I can't believe you ripped my teddy bear in half," Lea removes the offending item from the box and shows it to Natasha. She waggles it slightly so that the woman can see the stitching around the base of the right arm.

"It's yours?" she says softly.

"Yup," Lea replaces the bear and walks past Natasha and out of the room.

I can feel a kind of fascinated horror rolling off Natasha as she follows. Lea can feel it too, but she doesn't care.

Hobo-Heart leans out of a doorway, making Natasha jump. Lea smiles at him.

"What's going on?" He says slowly.

"Getting ready to leave," Lea replies, "I have to be across the country before next week."

"Not that," He says, and his eyes flick back to Natasha.

Lea just shrugs. He makes a disapproving noise, almost a growl, and disappears back into the room he came from.

"What's wrong with him?" Natasha asks.

Lea's tempter flares, but she takes a deep breath and says, "Nothing. He's a sweetheart, but then so is Slender and you never noticed that."

"Looked like a weirdo."

Lea turns to look at her, "You're a weirdo. So am I. It comes with the territory."

"No, I mean he—"

Hobo-Heart reappears and takes the box from Lea's arms.

"Thanks," Lea says, turning her attention to him as they start walking again.

"Where are they?" Hobo asks after a moment.

"Jack and Jeff?" Lea shrugs, "went off somewhere together. They'll come back soon, I guess. I don't know for sure."

He makes a face, "Ew," he says, in the same tone that a child might use to refer to their parent's sex life.

"I'd rather not think about it," Lea agrees with a little shudder, "Still, they can handle it."

"Oh," Natasha says loudly, "right: you're sensitive to that kind of stuff."

Lea turns to look at her and says, quite calmly, "Yes, I am a bit squeamish when it comes to sex, but I also managed to explain menstruation to a Slenderman, so I'm not that awkward."

I shift uncomfortably. Seeing bloodstains on her sheets scared me.

"What's that?" Hobo asks, confused.

"Ask Jeff. Once was enough for me."

"How do you not know what menstruation is?" Natasha asks.

Lea ignores her, but Hobo-Heart stares for several seconds before saying, "I'm a Gemberling."

"What they hell is a—"

"Like a Homunculus," Lea says, "that's enough now. I'm sure there's a book about it somewhere."

Hobo looks guilty, "There…was…" he says.

Lea sighs, "It was in the fire?"

He nods.

"Probably for the better. Why don't you go ahead, Hobo? You know where the room is."

He nods and walks on without them.

Lea waits until he's out of earshot, "Understand that the position you're putting me in is not enjoyable."

"You mean with that guy? What's so bad about that?"

Lea scowls, "I mean in general, and where Slender is concerned. People who have hurt us as much as you have generally end up dead in less than a week."

"Who is 'us'? And why do you call him Slender?"

"That's his real name. The officials here wouldn't let us put it on the official paperwork. It's something about using general terms. Bureaucratic shit." Lea rolls her eyes, "take that stupid mask off. I can't tell what you're thinking." She reaches up and pulls Natasha's mask off.

Beneath it, she's startlingly pretty, but only for a moment. Then she's back to Natasha, mask or no mask. She stands perfectly still, shocked.

Lea grins to herself, "Anyway, I'm not allowed to kill you of even hurt you physically. Not without consequences."

"So?" Natasha asks.

Hobo-Heart opens the door and walks into the room I'm sitting in. I focus back on my immediate surroundings.

"What were they talking about?" He asks me. Hobo doesn't share the others' uncertainty about me, and for that I'm grateful.

"Lea is making Natasha hate her," I say.

He nods, "And what's menstruation."

I chuckle, and he grins a little sheepishly. "Better not to ask me," I say, "I'm not that good at explaining things."

"Alright," He puts the box down on the table and hops up next to it.

Lea enters, beaming with a sadistic sort of pleasure, and a second Later Natasha follows. She has her mask on again, but I can sense the distress pouring off her.

Seeing them side-by-side, it occurs to me that Lea has changed physically in the last year. She's not as curvy as Natasha is, not nearly, but she's taller than she was, and her hips have widened. She doesn't have her muscle back yet, but I know when she does it will change how she looks even more.

Lea makes a beeline for me and hops up onto the arm of the sofa. I slip one arm around her automatically. She's warm against my side. Lea leans in and gives me a quick kiss on the temple, more friendly and familiar than anything else.

I sense a pulse of horror from Natasha. She can't believe what she's seeing. Hobo-Heart feels it too. I see him tense.

"Feeling better?" Lea asks me, aloud.

I fight back the urge to whisper my answer to her and instead reply so everyone can head, "A little."

"And your side?"

Right, the axe wound, "It's fine."

"You really should let Jack look at it."

I make a noncommittal noise.

"Just look, Slend, not do anything."

"What are you talking about?" Natasha says. She sounds alarmed.

Lea looks at Hobo-Heart, jerks her head. He immediately stand up and leaves the room. I sense him walking away, back to the room he was in before. I'm aware that that room's trashcan is already half-full with damaged feathers from his wings.

Lea fixes Natasha with a look that usually makes even Jeff take a step back. "You remember those two weeks in March when you said nothing was wrong?"

Natasha nods.

Lea asks for permission silently, and I reply. She reaches down and pulls my shirt up a few inches, exposing the scar tissue on my side. It hasn't improved any.

Natasha makes a movement like she might be sick, "oh my god."

I feel a spiteful rush of satisfaction that she's so shocked.

Lea drops my shirt back into place. I let go of her to straighten it, then pick her up off of the sofa and pull her into my chest. Lea puts her legs on the sofa and leans back into the crook of my arm.

"What happened?" Natasha asks.

Lea looks at me, and I say, "An axe. Someone took a swing at me."

Natasha sucks in a breath. Her eyes flick back and forth between the two of us. It's hard to do because we're occupying the same space.

Lea takes the hand that's not supporting her weight and pressed our fingertips together. I feel that uncoiling emotional release that comes from holding her.

"You're right," Natasha says to Lea, "I do hate you."

Lea grins. She drops my hand. "I told you that you would." She squirms out of my lap and settles for leaning back against my other side. I can feel her building walls around me with her closeness. The more she touches me, the harder it will be for Natasha to irritate me again.

The door to the room opens again, but this time it's Jeff, not Hobo-Heart. He's got a bite mark on his neck, partially obscured by his jacket.

He holds out the gun in his hand, flat in his palm so the motion is non-threatening, "Where the hell did he get this?"

Lea sits up, her eyes widening, "Shit,"

Natasha turns and looks at him. Jeff barely spares her a glance. He and Lea meet in the middle of the room, and she takes the gun.

"You know where it's from?" Jeff asks. He's twirling his knife absently with his right hand.

Lea nods, "Someone tried to shoot me with it." She releases the magazine and checks it, then checks the chamber. "Where did the other 8 bullets go?"

Jeff sighs, "8 people are dead somewhere. He left for a while earlier. I just figured he was getting food."

Lea ignores the 8 people are dead thing, "Is he okay?"

Jeff nods, "I think so…" he sighs, "I guess it could have been a rifle, or a machine gun."

"What the hell is going on?" Natasha asks.

Jeff looks at her for the first time. He stops twirling the knife, and Lea touches his arm as she senses his intentions.

"Leave that one," she says, "I'd rather not get caught by the Doctors again."

Jeff nods. He takes back the gun and starts taking it apart.

"What's so bad about Jack getting a gun?" Lea asks.

He looks up at her, "The scariest thing I've ever seen was Jack with a sniper rifle. When he's got a gun, he goes back to being a soldier."

Lea still looks confused.

"He had 12 bullets," Jeff says, "and when he was finished there were 12 dead people. They were part of what you would call a cult, and he just picked them off from three blocks away as they came out of their building." He shudders, "I know what I do is scary, but at least the ones I get know what's happening to them."

Lea stays quiet for a long moment. She walks back to me and curls up against my side. "I shouldn't have left it in plain sight. Sorry."

Jeff takes two pieces of the disassembled gun and puts them in his pocket. He leaves the rest on the table. "You didn't know. Don't worry about it."

"There's a room in here somewhere that's still got a few weapons in it. Should we empty it?"

Jeff stiffens, "Definitely. Where is it?"

Lea lets her fingers linger on my arm for one second, then she's back on her feet and dragging Natasha with her to the door, "You're helping. Hurry up."

All three of them leave the room.

I wait a moment, then swing my legs up onto the sofa and lean back. Lea will call me when they need me to move something.


	69. Chapter 69: ?

**AN:** Okay. This is the last chapter of this fanfiction and of this series. I'm sorry to spring this on you now, but with everything that has been going on lately, I've gotten distracted.

Part of me is relieved that this is almost over. Part of me is very sad.

* * *

[36] Obituaries

22 June

69\. ?

Lea comes back on a Sunday, two weeks after she leaves as promised. She brings with her a girl named Lacey, who looks at everyone through large dark eyes and holds Lea's hand until encouraged to go play with Janey. She obediently wanders off, and within minutes Minerva can hear shrieks of laughter from her little sister's room.

Lea produces all kind of interesting little trinkets, and Minerva notices that her bag is full of more unexplained things, chief among them a bottle of strange pink liquid. She also produces a box of chocolates and offers them as a present.

"My boss isn't feeling well," she explains, "The only thing he can stomach is soup, and then not much of it."

Then she settles down and, for some strange reason, strikes up perfectly normal conversation with both Minerva and her mother. She asks about school, about Rosaline and the teachers.

"What about Neil?" Minerva asks, "And Taylor?" One dead and the other missing.

Lea smiles, "Neil…had an accident. I already know that. And Taylor is not enjoying the physical exercise much, but otherwise just fine."

"You know where she is?!"

"Not precisely, but she's safe." Lea smiles then, and when she does it she looks like a totally different person. In the two weeks she's been absent, the muscles in her arms have become defines, and her skin has returned to a creamy white. For lack of a better word, she's beautiful. Like a spider might be beautiful, Minerva thinks, or an Alien about to bite your nose off with its second head.

And that's when Minerva notices the chain around her neck. "Lea," she says, "are you wearing jewelry?"

Lea flushes a little. She reaches up with one hand and produces a multi-pointed silver star studded with blue gems barely the size of the ball of her thumb. It sparkles in the light from the windows.

"Oh my god," Kaylee says, "Are those Sapphires?"

Lea shakes her head, "Paraiba Tourmaline. It's a more interesting stone, according to the people I've talked to. Tourmalines come in all sorts of colors, but Blue is pretty rare."

"I would have killed for a piece like that at your age," Kaylee says.

Lea tucks the little star hurriedly back out of sight, "Slender gave it to me. Birthday present. He didn't actually buy it, of course, which cheapens the thought a little, but still…"

There's a scream from the next floor, and the girl Lacey comes hopping down the stairs, one of her tiny hands holding something furry and red.

Lea scoops her up off the floor and into her lap.

"Lacey," she scolds, "you didn't."

The little girl's eyes are totally black now, without whites or irises. "He tried to bite me," she says, blinking at the box of chocolates."

"So you ripped his ear off?" Lea says, sounding only slightly exasperated.

Kip comes pelting down the stairs, spattering blood from the place where his ear used to be. He jumps at Lea, snarling as if ready to bite. The young woman tightens her hold on Lacey and snaps a kick into the animal.

Minerva shrieks as the dog skids across the floor. The little white-and-red-stained body comes to rest against the couch.

"Muzzle your dog," Lea says, unconcerned.

Minerva feels sick, but she can't seem to do much of anything, not scream or gag or anything besides just sit there and stare.

Lea holds out a hand and Lacey places the torn ear in it. Lea, in turn, produces a cloth and wipes the little girl's hands.

"Did you talk to him?" Lea asks Lacey.

"Yes. He says it's fine by him. He's been here far too long."

Lea nods and wraps the ear up in the cloth and tucks it away. She hands a roll of bandages to Lacey, and the little girl hops out of her lap. She goes to Kip's still body and starts wrapping the bandages around his head with practiced fingers.

"Sorry about that," Lea says to the two women at the table, "It's a hazard in these situations. Lacey will take care of it."

"I'm not sure what to say," Kaylee says slowly, "will he be okay?"

Lea nods, "perfectly fine, apart from losing the ear. Maybe wait until tomorrow to take him to the vet to get it stitched."

Kaylee nods, "Maybe."

Minerva notices that Lacey has disappeared without a trace.

Lea only stays about an hour more, and then she says her goodbyes. They're real ones this time, with hugs and some tearfulness on Kaylee's part, like it's real this time. Maybe it is, Minerva thinks, remembering something she overheard Lea tell Taylor. _"We don't say goodbye unless we mean it permanently."_

The thing that really makes Minerva believe it is that, when Lea walks down the street, she turns around and looks back. It's that image of her, silhouetted against the sun and the backdrop of the mountains, one tiny dark insignificant figure, that sears itself into Minerva's mind. She knows, suddenly, that she's going to take that image to her grave.

Not that that's very far away.

* * *

Minerva wakes up in the middle of the night. She rolls onto her side, but the glow of the clock isn't there. She frowns.

The noise that awakened her comes again, a soft breathy sound, halfway between a groan and a sigh.

Minerva lays very still, suddenly terrified. Her hear tis beating so hard and fast that she's sure whatever made the noise can hear it. Her skin is clammy with cold sweat.

She sees the figure at the end of her bed.

It's very pale, bone-white, and its black hair tangles over its face. It only looks human by a stretch of the imagination. Reality seems to be flexing back from it, warping around it. Its fingers look to dexterous and its spine too flexible. If Minerva tries to see it, she might just be able to believe that it resembles Jeffery Woods.

The thing at the end of the bed whose name is Jeff moves tremendously slowly. He raises a knee, then a hand, like an animal laboring under a burden. Minerva blinks, and he's right over her, face inches away, hair brushing her cheeks and ears.

A smile cracks his mouth, opening the scars on his cheeks like ripe cherries. Blood is running in them, but not dripping, not pooling.

Minerva becomes aware that he's sitting on her chest, and that her body is paralyzed.

He raises the knife in his right hand so that it catches the single stream. His left tangles in Minerva's hair, yanking back and down, exposing her neck.

"Go to Sleep," He says, growls, snarls. The knife comes down.

Minerva gets out half a scream, but no one comes running.

* * *

**Excerpt from newspaper:**

On the 23 of June, our town witnessed a tragedy the likes of which hadn't been seen since the Donner Party passed through in the 1800's.

I am talking about the murder of the Higgins family this last week. For those who need reminding, the Higgins had 4 children in their household, two boys aged seven and two girls aged five and sixteen. Kaylee Higgins was a nurse at the local hospital with a special touch for children and expectant mothers. Her fifth child, Eric, was attending college in Florida. Mr. Higgins worked in San Francisco and was away from home most of the year.

Upon trying to contact the absentee family, the police discovered that they were also deceased, killed on the same night as the Higgins household in our town.

The police would like to reiterate that this is in no way the result of gang violence or a drug deal gone wrong. It is also not connected to the disappearance of Taylor Mells or Richard Mann, who is suspected of kidnapping (more on page 5).

No neighbors saw anyone entering or leaving the house the night of the murders, and there is no evidence of forced entry or a struggle. Law enforcement agents are baffled by the lack of evidence left behind as well as the variety of ways in which the family was killed.

Due to the violent nature of the crimes, no information has been released concerning the state of the bodies. "Suffice to say it's going to be a closed-casket funeral," one officer, who prefers to remain anonymous, said when questioned.

The Higgins case isn't unique. The last few months have seen a dramatic increase in random homicides across the nation and much of Canada. The FBI are investigating, but so far have turned up nothing connecting the cases…

* * *

**AN: **I guess this is a pretty bad ending, isn't it? Well, maybe it's not the end. Maybe I'm just jerking you around. Maybe you'll have to wait a month or so until I figure out exactly how much I'm going to tell you.

Until then, if you want to read my equally crappy Minecraft fanfiction go for it.


	70. Chapter 70: Slender

**AN:** Writing this story has not been easy. Some bits have been nice, but other pasts are akin to swallowing boiling water, feeling it sear all the way down your throat to finally bring the bile in your stomach to a palpable simmer. Every piece of this that has made you ache, I have felt a thousand times worse. Each taste of love and trust that I have given you has been ten times sweeter on my own lips.

Now, I will hurt myself and you more than I have in the past. This story is a disease, and it will eat me alive unless I can work up the courage and swallow the pills. This is the only way.

* * *

[37] Epilogue: We're not supposed to know

August 16, 5:30 PM

70\. Slender

I finally put it all together over a month later in the apartment where, four years before, a bond had been forged.

Lea, cleaning up after an early dinner, is paying little attention to me. I'm on the couch, waiting for her to finish so she'll come sit with me.

The past month hasn't been easy for me. Lea has been investing a lot in time in my mental wellbeing. Losing her for almost a year has changed me more than I realized at first. The one major difference is that I've actually been talking to people besides Lea. I found immediately upon actually speaking to them, that Jack and Jeff are not nearly as cold toward me as previously supposed. Jeff and Lea share more personality traits than I am comfortable with.

The other change is between Lea and I. We tried to stop sleeping in the same bed, we really did. We went into different rooms, read different books at night, even attempted to sleep in different shifts. We both proved unable to sleep without the other in the room, except when Lea took a sleeping pill that actually made her feel sick the next morning. There was no way around it. In the end, we just agreed not to snuggle and gave in. Her nightmares subsided almost immediately.

My Lea, finally 18 years old. The sweet spot, according to Jack, the time when dying is most likely to produce a desirable result. I flick my mind against hers, checking her progress on the dishes. Not done quite yet.

I notice a book lying on the coffee table in front of me. It's strange that I didn't notice it earlier, but I haven't been paying much attention.

I sit up and pick it up. It's a heavy leather-bound thing with a lot of pages in it. I open it to the first page. There's a dark-haired little girl looking back at me. She's waving paint-smeared hands, stained a red even brighter than blood. I recognize Lea's blue eyes, but little else about the picture. I turn the page, and she's there again, still a toddler, this time eating a slice of birthday cake. She looks so innocently happy. She's set aside half of her piece of cake in the picture, pushed it to the edge of her plate. In the three following pictures, I can see it in the background, untouched.

I keep turning pages. Here's one of Lea and her mother, one with her and an elderly woman who must be her grandmother who Lea has no coherent memories of. She's smiling, always smiling. As I turn the pages, the smile begins to fade a little, becoming less and less natural. By the time she's ten years old, it looks completely artificial. It occurs to me that I'm watching her slowly die.

The Lea in the here and now slips her arms around my neck from behind.

"What's that?" She asks, her head on my shoulder. She answers her own question, "Oh, the photo album."

I don't respond. I don't know what to say. It's just dawned on me how fragile she is, how time drags her along in its current. She'll grow old and die, like all humans, and that will be it. Everything will just stop.

Lea turns her head and kisses my jaw, sending pins and needles cascading over me. "It's nothing, Slend. I know the risks of being human." A little joke, because human is not as nearly as dangerous as what she might turn out to be.

I force myself to chuckle and set the photo album aside, still open. Lea lets go of me and comes around the couch. She sits and leans into my side, putting her weight on me. I obediently slip my arm around her waist.

Now that I've started thinking about it, I can't stop. Lea is young and strong now, but someday she won't be, assuming she lives that long, which she probably won't. Of course, they told us that Lea might be like the monsters. She might not be able to die, but we don't know for sure.

Jack says that you need to die once anyway, preferably between the ages of 18 and 25. Any older or younger than that, and the body will be overhauled completely. That's why it was so important for her to stay alive until she was 18.

I give Lea a squeeze, and she sighs, closes her eyes.

They all died in tragic ways. There isn't a single one pf them who died of natural causes or even disease. Lea has had two chances of dying like that: once when Max attacked her, the second when Neil pulled a gun on her. I stopped them both. I thought I was saving her, but what if I was only doing what was right for myself?

How many chances would she get to complete that step of the process? Surely not that many.

I finally say something to Lea, "You know I care about you, right?"

She nods, "I know."

"Good."

So it comes down to this: how selfish am I? And am I selfless enough to do something that might destroy her in order to give her what she wants? She's told me exactly what she wants, murmured it in moments of weakness into my shirt. She wants to stay with us, them and me, for as long as she can. How long will that be? Can we bear to watch her wither into dust?

I know with a terrible certainty what I have to do.

For the first time, Lea reacts to my half-hidden thoughts. She opens her eyes and looks up at me. "What was that?" she asks. I can hear fear in her voice, slow and choking, like she already knows somewhere in her exactly what I'm thinking about.

"It's nothing," I say, "just relax."

She does, slowly. She rests back against me. I lean down and kiss the top of her head, half-straighten, bend back down and repeat the action. The hand that's not around her strays towards the pillow I was resting against before. I don't want to leave any marks on her skin, not even the slightest bruise.

"What?" she asks again, following the movement through one half-open eye.

I wordlessly press her down, as if to communicate a reclining position. Lea lets herself slide down, but her eyes are questioning. The trust she has in me is almost physically painful.

I brush hair away from her face, letting my fingers trace a line from her cheek down to her neck. I'm going to miss those eyes. "I love you," I say.

I see hesitation on her face, confusion, almost fear. She opens her mouth to speak.

In a sudden rush of my own fear and adrenaline, I press the pillow over her face.

There's a moment of stillness where Lea probes my mind, trying to figure out what, exactly, I'm doing. Then she starts to fight back. Words are no longer an option as her mind floods with panic, horror.

She claws at the pillow first, trying to get it off of her mouth and nose. Then she claws at my hands and arms instead, nails breaking my skin and leaving red welts. I catch her wrists with a tentacle and hold them down, away from me.

She's gasping, chest heaving, kicking and twisting in my grip, trying to throw me off, but I'm big and she's small and delicate. She's screaming wordlessly into the pillow.

Slowly the bucking ceases. Instead she starts convulsing spasmodically, as if she's having a seizure. She gags beneath me, but thankfully doesn't vomit. Miraculously, she doesn't void her bladder or bowels either. Her brain is too far gone for any thought except the realization of imminent death. I think that she's crying.

Then consciousness ceases. The convulsions continue, but less violently, more like involuntary twitches than a seizure, then those too fade away.

Breathing continues shallowly for a minute, though she can't possibly be getting Oxygen, then that goes too. I keep the pillow in place until I hear her heartbeat stop.

I remove it and gently close Lea's blood-shot blue eyes. She looks like she's asleep except she's much too pale and the tip of her nose and her lips are already starting to bruise a putrid black.

I curl down and rest my head on her still chest, missing the heartbeat that I stopped only moments before.

"I'm sorry," I say into the void where her mind used to be, "I'm so sorry, please forgive me."

She doesn't reply, of course, and when I lift her hand it's limp and slides out of mine, her fingertips bruising and my skin clumped under the nails.

I feel my heart shatter, feel the shards spear into my other organs. I let out a cry no one can hear, let it echo dimly across the empty space all around me. I feel it pass over the minds of the humans all around me, making them shiver, making them reach for cell phones or sleeping lovers. They know grief when they feel it.

There are suddenly footsteps vibrating up the stairs of the apartment building. The door flies open and two people hurtle in. I'm not at all surprised to see Jack and Jeff there. They both freeze, looking at the little scene in front of them.

Jeff very deliberately turns around and closes the door. "I think," he says, "that we aren't going to need to flip that coin after all."

Jack ignores him and walks over to me. Instead of Lea, he takes my hands and gently removes them from her still body. "It's okay," he says, "it's okay, deep breaths. You did everything right."

I have never been so relieved to see them.


	71. Chapter 71: Lea

**AN:** What? You thought that was it? Seriously? I promised you all a happy ending. Have a little faith.

Let me know if this confuses you too much. I'll try to smooth it out if necessary.

* * *

[37] What we're not supposed to know

Time and date are irrelevant when the soul exits the body

71\. Lea

I wake up in what must a hospital. The ceiling above me is a clinical sort of white and the sheet laying over me is thin and cold. There's a tube down my throat that feels like its choking me.

I sit up slowly, grasp the tube in both hands, and pull. It's not going down my throat. It's my windpipe, and I cough and gag as I remove it. I toss it to the floor and rest my head in sensitive hands.

Slender must not have been able to kill me. He must have brought be to the hospital and left me here.

I reach out with my mind, feeling sympathy rather than anger or fear. He must have been hurting so much to try to kill me, especially after saying what he said. He didn't even give me the chance to reply. I can feel his mind, but it feels like he's trancing, or else is in a very deep sleep. I hope he didn't do anything stupid.

I take a couple seconds before I look up. There are blinds around my bed, keeping most of the room hidden. I can hear machinery beeping nearby, multiple sets.

I try to stand up, but my legs are bound to the bed. My ankles are strapped down. I reach down to fumble for the straps, but my fingers are painful. The tips of them are dark with bruising and clumsy.

The door of the room opens, and a few seconds later the blinds around my bed move slightly. I see a shadow, but no actual form. I stay perfectly motionless until the door closes again, then go back to struggling with my ankle restrains with renewed fervor.

I haven't even figured out how they work before I hear the door open again. There are loud footsteps on cold tile, and then the curtain at the end of the bed is thrown aside, and something that cannot possibly exist is standing there. I can feel the power rolling off of it in waves, not unlike speaking with one of the very powerful Slendermen, except on a scale that makes them look like little more than insects.

The figure looks disturbingly like Minerva. The dead Minerva, with her chest smashed open and her blood running like pomegranate juice over her cracked ribs.

"I see you're awake," they say to me, and smile. Their chest knits back together, the ribs slide back into place with soft pops. I feel some of my physical excitement fade.

The blinds on either side of my bed draw back seemly without anyone touching them. On my left is an empty bunk, but on my right is…

"I'm going to make this simple, because we are pressed for time," the person who looks like Minerva says, "you're dead."

I lunge with an animal snarl of rage and fear, but succeed only in wrenching one of my hips rather painfully. They—she—doesn't even react.

After I'm finished being in pain, I say, "Who are you?"

"I am one of three gods, for lack of a better word, that rule your world. I am not the equivalent of either the Christian God or Satan, so you can relax. You may call me Cee. I am here to make a deal with you."

I look again at the two beds to my right. I was to go to them so badly.

Cee gestures vaguely and my ankle restraints vanish, "Go on then, but do hurry. We have things to discuss."

I leap to my feet and rush to the next bed over. It's a serious affair, masses of tubes and wires, casts and braces. There's a clear plastic bottle collecting bloody fluid that must be draining from a lung. The person's head is held rigidly in place by a neck brace.

I take Jack's hand, feel its warmth, how his heart is beating so strong and steadily. He's alive, somehow. As I'm touching him, I feel the world around me begin to change. Suddenly brown is the dominant color instead of white, and I can hear faint explosions, feel wind tearing through my skin. I see Cee moving out of the corner of my eye. They're in the shape of an adult man with small glasses and a mild expression.

I remove my hand from Jack and cross to the next bed down, shaking slightly. This one contains something that must have once been male, but it's twisted and turned at odd angles. Some bits of it seem to be adult, but others are the size of a boy. It's like a grotesque chimera. Most of it is covered in bandages, woven tightly over its skin.

What happened to Jeff? This isn't just burns.

I don't touch him. I don't want to see what he sees either in Cee or in our surroundings.

I notice that there are jars sitting on the beds, Jack's on his right and Jeff's on his left so that they are both in front of me. They're big heavy things with thick glass. The jar near Jack appears to be full of a red liquid, swirling of its own accord. Jeff's contains a sickly multicolored mass of green, yellow, and purple.

I reach down and touch the red jar gently. It has a label on it: "Pain." The label on Jeff's jar is turned away from me, so I rotate the whole thing until it comes into view. "Schizophrenia."

"Come back now," Cee says.

I blink, and I'm sitting on my own bed again, my ankles bound. I make a mental note never to cross any kind of God.

"Let's talk," Cee says, "I have to give you full disclosure. It's in the contract.

"Okay," I say

"You're also a Proxy, so we'll have to discuss that as well. I can't overhaul you. Your master has some say in what happens to you."

"What aren't _you_ allowed to do?" I ask, "you're god."

"One of three in this world," she reminds me patiently, "the other two hold me accountable. We've formed councils instead of dictatorships ever since the little…incident with the garden and all that. Your world is remarkably similar to that one, as it happens."

I decide to ignore all the implications of that statement, "Aren't we pressed for time?" I say.

"Yes we are. It's about half-gone now." They clear their throat, steeple their fingers together and lean forward. "This is how this is going to work. I am going to make a deal with you. You will be given eternal life, physical prowess, et cetera, et cetera. In return for this, there will be a few minor drawbacks."

"And by that you mean I'm going to be compulsed to kill people."

They smile, "Yes, precisely. I do have a quota to make."

I nod. I can do that, I know I can.

"I'll also be taking one thing from you, as I believe you observed with your colleagues. That is something that you get to request. I get to decide on what you are going to keep with you always."

"What did they keep?" I ask.

"That's confidential information, I'm afraid. You can always ask them if you really want to know."

I nod, "Do I get to choose now?"

"Not quite. You have to understand that I don't get to completely decide what you're going to keep. You're a Proxy, and the Slendermen are not my creation at all. Your master has some control over what happens to you."

I trust Slender, of course I do. He just killed me, sure, but I already know how to stop myself from being afraid of him for that. I already know what I'm going to give up.

"Not so fast," Cee says, as if they can hear my thoughts, "you're going to have a few days for him to make this decision in, once you explain the situation. Do you know Rake?"

I nod mutely.

"Be careful to spin it the right way, or you might end up like that."

I swallow nervously.

Cee looks at their wrist, as if looking at a watch but nothing is there. "Brain death occurs in 30 seconds," she says.

"What?!"

"Time to choose."


	72. Chapter 72: Slender (plus credits)

**AN: **Keep an eye out for these characters again guys. Maybe not Slender, but the others. Watch for them. Someday, you're going to be going along, reading a book, and you're going to think to yourself, "hey, that sounds a lot like that guy from that one fanfiction," and you're going to come back here, and this fanfiction will be deleted because of some occurrence or another, and you'll never know for sure. Just look at the cover of that book. That's me.

* * *

[38] What we aren't supposed to know

August 16, 5:40 PM

72\. Slender

I'm still cradling Lea's body, wishing desperately that she wasn't slowly cooling under my hands. Jack, sitting near me, keeps checking it watch, as if waiting for something.

Jeff is pacing in circles around the sofa, staying within reach at all times. They've been trading the role of comforter back and forth between them flawlessly. Even as I think it, Jeff reaches out and touches my shoulder on the way past, jerking me out of reverie.

It seems that all of their squeamishness has been less about me and more about Lea. Respect for her territory perhaps? Now that we're all on equal ground, I suspect I could pick either one of them up and cuddle them just as easily as I have Lea in the past.

I could live like this if I had to. I wouldn't enjoy it at first, but there would be people I could turn to if Lea stays dead.

"Two minutes," Jack says.

"Damn," Jeff says, "half gone."

I start to ask what they're talking about, but I see Jack go rigid. Jeff sees it too: he stops pacing.

Jack rushes into the kitchen. He bends almost double over the sink and retches. His left hand rests on the tile of the counter, his right is cradled against his chest. I see blood coming out of him, black and partially congealed.

"Jack?" Jeff says, stepping towards the man.

"Don't touch me," Jack orders. He moans, trying to stay perfectly motionless as he shudders. "It hurts," he explains, then subsides, sinking to the ground and doubling up into a fetal position.

I set Lea's body to one side, more concerned with what's going on in front of me for the moment.

Jack screams, muffling the sound with his left hand as best he can. It's at a pitch I didn't know he could hit. I'm uncomfortable seeing steady-handed Jack reduced to this.

Jeff steps back, "She's got her hands on the jars." There's panic in his voice.

He starts turning in circles on the spot, his eyes wide and flicking left and right. He has his knife in one hand.

I'm confused and more than a little afraid. What jars?

Jeff stops turning. His body and face go completely still. I feel something in his brain click in a way that I know is not supposed to happen.

He starts backing up, "No," he says, "no, no, no, no, you're not real—steel—heal—" deep breath, "you're not alive. I killed you."

Jeff's eyes are fixed on nothing and his face is expressionless except for the absolute terror in his eyes.

"I didn't mean to, didn't want to, couldn't help you," he says.

Jack stirs himself, sitting up slowly. "Is he hallucinating?"

"I think so," I reply, still feeling the way Jeff's brain is sparking, like an overloaded circuit.

Jeff yells and rushes forward at nothing. I move on instinct, flickering to him and scooping him off the ground in one motion. I remove the knife from his hand and set it on the table.

Jeff seems to come to his senses. He buries his face against my chest and squeezes his eyes shut. "Make them stop," he pleads.

I fill his mind with a buzzing that sooths every other remotely human creature, and Jeff relaxes in my grip. His heart is still hammering in his chest, but his breathing is calming down.

"I hope," Jack says, "that the next one who turns breaks her jar clean in half."

Neither Jeff now I reply. I'm struggling with mixed feelings about holding the killer like this, and he's still shaking with adrenaline.

Jack stands up. He's not in pain anymore. He takes a second to wash out the sink before walking over to us.

"Jeff?" He says, "you alright?"

"I can still hear them," Jeff says, "but it's not too bad."

"Having fun up there?"

"It's actually pretty comfortable." Jeff puts his head back against me.

I tense at his touch, unused to the contact. I'm willing to hold him while he's having a panic attack, but as soon as it's over I'm putting him down.

Lea moves. She twitches, her fingers curling into loose fists.

Jack sees it too. "Jeff," he says, "down here. Now."

Jeff hops out of my grip. He picks up his knife. He and Jack turn to face Lea, putting themselves between us.

Her heartbeat starts up again, her back arching as it does. She sucks in one desperate lungful of air.

My first instinct is to pick her up and soothe her as she comes back into consciousness.

Jack must sense my intention because he spins towards me, even as I'm flickering, "No!"

I'm already to Lea, reaching out to her.

Her eyes fly open. There's no recognition in those eyes, only animal malice. She lunges upwards in an almost snake-like motion.

I feel one clammy palm land on the back of my neck, fingernails lacerating me again, the other hand grabs a handful of my jacket. Lea bites into the muscle of my neck, missing the arteries by pure chance and only a centimeter. Two teeth that certainly weren't this sharp before puncture my skin, create deep gashes as she starts to rip off a piece of me.

I throw her across the room, too surprised and panicked to think straight. She hits the kitchen counter and goes over it backwards, falls to the floor on the other side of it.

Jack and Jeff scramble over furniture and stand in front of me again. This time, I take heed and remain firmly behind them.

There's a snarl, and the thing that looks like Lea springs back over the counter. Its mouth and chin are stained red with my blood and saliva is dripping in watery trails from two enlarged incisors.

The thing stops, sizing up the situation. It growls, still in the register of Lea's voice but sounding inexplicably animal. It lunges, past Jack and Jeff, at me.

They both catch it around the waist with one arm each, and grunt as they pull it back. Jeff uses his weight to force it to the ground. He straddles the struggling form, knees on her arms.

Jack produces a scalpel and kneels beside them. It's him that goes to work first, apparently severing tendons, crippling her. Lea tries to bite him, and her hands rip easily through Jeff's clothing as she claws at him.

Jeff snarls back at her, and brings his knife down on her chest. She arches and screams inhumanly.

I stand back and watch them dismantle the thing that used to be Lea.

I can still feel her mind, even after she's technically dead.

Finally the men stop, breathing hard. They stand up, wiping bloody hands on their own clothes.

"Time for the real fun to start," Jeff says. He slings the slim body over his shoulders and leaves the apartment.

Jack turns to me, reaches out one hand, "Let me see."

I flicker back onto the couch, feeling numb, and he runs freezing fingers over the injuries.

"Not too bad," he says, "You won't even need stitches."

I guess it feels worse than it is.

Jeff comes back into the room. "Give it three minutes," he says.

The screaming starts up from across the hall. Now I know what Jeff was doing with the thing.

Jack doesn't look up from cleaning the cuts. He's humming something, sounding content with how things are going.

Two minutes Later the door opens, and the thing that was Lea stumbles in. It's covered in blood from its mouth all the way down to its shins, coated up to its elbows in gore. It blinks blue eyes at us, twitches slightly.

"Did I do that?" it asks in Lea's voice.

I feel tentacles squirm out of my back, lashing the air around me. Only Jack's hands on my shoulders keep me where I am. It's like he's telling me to sit still.

Lea bursts into tears, streaking the blood on the lower half of her face. She jumps at me again, but this time it's only to bury her face in my chest. She pushes her mind against mine, overlapping them.

"I'm sorry," she says, "I'm sorry I didn't see you were hurting, I'm so sorry."

I laugh, making her shiver. "I wasn't hurting," I tell her, "I just realized it needed to be done."

She giggles herself, wraps her arms around my neck, leaving streaks of her parent's blood across my skin. "I love you too."

Relief floods through me, nonsensical at a time like this. I was terrified she wouldn't reciprocate.

Jack drags Lea out of my arms, and I let him take her. He pins her against the nearest wall. "If you ever touch those jars again, I will smash your against a rock."

Lea's eyes grow wide, but not in fear, "I didn't know what they were. I won't do it again."

Jack lets himself relax, and I realize he's just as relieved as I am that she's alive.

Lea stands up as he steps back, looks down at herself and frowns. She pulls off her outer shirt right there, exposing her shoulders and the sticky red stain on her upper chest, which she scrubs at in distaste.

"I can guess what you gave up," Jeff says from beside me, twirling his knife between his fingers."

"Jeff," Jack says warningly.

"It was fear, wasn't it?"

Lea's eyes flick to me, holding intent in them I've never seen there before but recognize immediately. "Not all of it," she says, "only the bits that aren't useful."

"Very smart," Jack says.

I think I'm the only one in the room who knows exactly what she means by that. I feel my heartrate begin to speed up in anticipation.

Lea grins at me.

* * *

**AN:** Aw, wasn't that a better ending than the other one? I hope that it wasn't too confusing for you. Any questions you have, I will gladly answer them via PM, but I think if you really try it will all make sense.

And now for the credits.

* * *

Slenderman (concept) to Victor Surge

Jeff the Killer to Rightful Owner (I imagine that, whoever you are, you are both proud and mortified)

Eyeless Jack to Rightful Owner

Ben Drowned to Jadusable

Smile Dog to Rightful Owner

The Organization to Rightful Owner

Holder of the Home to Emily Jones

The Girl in the Photograph to Rightful Owner

Various briefly mentioned teddy bears and dolls to rightful owners

The Butcher to Rightful Owner

Salt to salt (You must think you're very clever. You are.)

Sally (from Play with Me) to Kiki-hyuga

Lacy (from Never Again) to Rightful Owner

Raun and the Hunters are collaborations between myself and AForementionedFriend, who has an account on this site. She can take credit, but she's also been a real bitch to me so I don't care if she gets mad.

Lost Silver to Rightful Owner

Tails Doll to Rightful Owner (the pasta got deleted dude. You might want to look into that)

Diary of Mr. Welldone to Rightful Owner

Laughing Jack to SnuffBomb

Hobo-Heart to Cris Oz Fulton

Poe inspired by The Black Cat by Edgar Allen Poe

Clockwork to Rightful Owner (It was deleted too)

Ticci Toby to Kastoway

The Devil's Game to InfernalNightmares333

Ojos Blancos to Carsonomel

SCP Foundation to Rightful Owner(s)

And, last but not least, people who are mine: Lea Amelia Burns, Ana Dane, Mitch McJonas, Dr. Damion Reed, Dr. Richard Mann, Almes (The Inspector), The Higgins Family, various teenage scumbags (excluding Jeff), individual personalities not originally attributed to characters. Mi, and Cee. Cee is kind of important.


End file.
